


One of the lost ones

by nishiki



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Abduction, Abstergo, Adorable Connor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Assassin Ziio, Assassin/Templar dynamics, Canonical Character Death, Caring Haytham, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Haytham, Haytham Being a Good Father, Haytham/Ziio realtionship, Modern Assassins, Templar Haytham, Templar/Assassin Relationship, canonverse (mentioned), kid!Connor, later teenage!Connor, non sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: 1998 - Rockport, MassachusettsThe Assassin enclave of the Davenport Homestead was supposed to be a safe haven for Assassins, a bastion against the ever growing Templar threat of the big city. On the grounds of the homestead Assassin families were supposed to grow and teach their children, as it was the fashion in all the other small communities of Assassins all over the world. The only odd member of the community, a man going by the name of Haytham Kenway, however, brings the threat of the Templars power dangerously close to home and he has to learn that even his own comrades, would never shy away from getting their hands on his son to find a way to destroy the Assassins once and for all.------In this story, Connor gets abducted by Abstergo to put him into the Animus to find them a Piece of Eden. Connor is from then on a prisoner of the Templars to which his own father belongs while Haytham is on a rescue mission. Trying to find his son, trying to get revenge for his wife's death, trying to infiltrate Abstergo, Haytham needs to decide whether to change sides or not.





	1. Prolog

**May 1998, Rockport Massachusetts**

»Connor! Be careful, son!« The voice of a man echoed through the thick forest and bounced off of the steep mountains and their jagged surface. The sun stood high in a clear azure blue sky. Not even the hint of a cloud foreshadowing a change in weather could be seen. The air was mild and the rays of sunlight so warm and bright that one could get lost standing in the warmth for too long, melting into a puddle on the ground – or at least catching a nasty sunburn instead. The branches of the large pines and birches danced softly in soft puffs of the wind with their leaves shaking oh so tenderly. The only sound out here in this tiny little world came from the animals around, the rattle of hoofs from deer running around deep in the underwood, the tiny stomping of paws from rabbits fleeing from the intruders and into the thicker branches of the brushwood where it was safe, the smacking sound when a pine cone would fall to the ground sharply every once in a while, and the patter of small feet running through the shrubs and breaking small twigs in their wake.

Connor was careful not to make a sound when he moved through the forest usually. It was the latest game that he and his father would play. His father had said that he wanted to teach him how to move without making any noise and so far Connor was eager to prove to him that he was indeed capable of doing exactly that every time he and his father would leave the house to go and play in the woods. It was much harder out here than it was in their home. Inside the house, Connor knew every creaking floorboard and knew which step was better to be avoided when sneaking up on his father. Even when they were not playing, Connor enjoyed sneaking up on his parents, especially on his father, for he would first jolt in surprise when Connor would suddenly pinch him from behind and then he would growl like a wild beast only to chase him through the house and lift him up whenever he would catch Connor. Of course, it was needless to say that Connor let himself get caught by his father always, for he loved it when his father would pick him up like this only to carry him around the house like a slain beast.

His mother would only smirk when she would see it, shake her head softly and turn back to whatever she was in the midst of doing – mom-stuff, usually. No matter how much he loved it at home, however, Connor had always been drawn to the woods more. He spent every free minute out here in the wilderness, albeit it of course scarcely without supervision. His parents would never make the grave mistake in provoking their four-year-old son in saying that it was too dangerous for him out in the woods all alone, of course, but Connor knew that they were secretly thinking this and he was always determined to prove them wrong.

»I'm not a baby anymore, Raké:ni!« Connor shouted back at his father from a distance as he slowly made an effort to climb up a tree stump. His mother had taught him how to climb and run through trees almost immediately as he had made his first steps. He was not as good as her, of course, and he remembered watching his mother in awe, hoping that one day he would be as agile and skilled as her.

He could hear his father's footsteps through the forest and knew that the old wolf did not even try to make no noise, perhaps even so that Connor would be aware of his presence and would not fear that he had been left alone. Connor, however, had different plans as he brought enough distance between himself and his father to hide from him. That was yet another game they would play every once in a while. His father, however, did not seem very fond of that game, or rather not as fond as he was of the other games they would play. Connor though loved it when his father would start searching for him and he always had quite a hard time to hold back his laughter and giggles when he would hide somewhere and could hear his father nearby.

His mother had started early to teach him how to read tracks of animals and humans alike. He did not quite understand why his mother would teach him such things or why they would play all those little games together, but he enjoyed it tremendously. His mother would hide somewhere and Connor would need to analyze the tracks she would leave behind for him to find her. He always did. He was quite good at this, his father, however, had not the slightest clue about such things. He could not even climb trees. Maybe that was the reason why it was so funny to Connor to hide from his father. He would hide either until his father would find him or was exhausted enough from searching that Connor could scare him in jumping out of some bush.

Today, however, Connor felt like scaring his father a little. He could not quite say why he enjoyed this so much, but he did and so he strayed from the path they would usually walk on. He was not allowed to wander too deep into the woods, especially not alone. His parents liked to warn him that dangerous animals would wait in the deepest parts of the forest for little boys like him to devour in one single piece, but Connor was sure that those were just stories his parents had made up to scare him from wandering off too far. Especially his father liked to slip into the role of the big bad wolf or the dangerous brown bear when he would tell those stories to scare his little boy, but Connor had never quite believed those tales, no matter how much effort his parents put into telling them.

The other children of the village did not believe this stuff either. It was something entirely different when his Grandpa would tell him stories about pirates and sea monsters, though. One time he had not been able to sleep in his own bed for almost one entire week after his Grandpa had told him the story of a large Kraken that was known to destroy ships and eat their crew somewhere in the Atlantic sea. He wished he would be able to see his Grandpa more often than he could, but sadly he lived so far away that Connor only got him to see maybe once or twice a year at best.

Connor was quick to escape his father’s eyes as he ran through the woods, darted sideways whenever he needed to until the forest around him grew even thicker and darker. As he finally stopped, he was not able to tell for how long he had been running and he could not hear his father any longer. He had stopped in the middle of a clearing and could hear one of the two rivers that were cutting through the area gurgling in the distance, but the trees were so large and loomed so high over him, that they blocked out every bit of sunlight and even the sky. It was cold without the sun and he could not help but rub his naked arms as he was only wearing his favorite light blue T-Shirt. It had a rocket ship printed on the front and his father had brought it with him as he had come back from his last business travels into the city. Carefully, Connor looked around, but he could not tell where he was or from where he had come anymore. Suddenly, it was not only the missing sunlight that made him shiver.

In the distance he could hear the sound of a deep, feral growl and for just a second his tiny heart jumped as it was sure it was his father, but when he looked around, there was no one to be seen, but the growl grew louder. Suddenly it was as if it came from everywhere around him. First, he saw the flash of gray fur through the shrubbery, then he heard the sound of large paws breaking twigs under the weight of a beast.

Connor started running in earnest this time, unable to really see or tell to where he was even running. Blind fear was driving him into action and his short legs soon tense with strain. The forest around him was suddenly so dark, that it was even hard to see the ground beneath his feet and so, suddenly, Connor's left foot got caught on a root and he found himself stumbling. He lost his balance right away and fell without being able to really do anything about it, as he landed on the hard ground and rolled down a ravine, his back hitting stones in the process hard and as he finally reached the end of the ravine he was sure that he had broken something.

Hot tears were rolling down his cheeks in a matter of seconds as he became aware of the situation he had gotten himself into. As the fear that was manifesting itself in its tiny little chest tried to swallow him whole, however, Connor immediately wiped away the tears from his cheeks. He was not a crybaby! He had never been one! And he would not cry and sob now! The forest had never been frightening to him and he was sure that it never would. He would find his way back and that he would do without tears so that his father would be proud of him. Still, Connor took a moment to collect himself, sitting in the dirt. He drew in a deep breath and pushed out a shuttering huff of warm air afterwards. His mother had taught him to breathe deeply when he was afraid and so he did, to get rid of his fear. It did not work as well as it did at home, though.

As he sat in the dirt he had a little time to examine his injuries. His palms were scratched and bloody, as were his knees which he could see through the ripped fabric of his grey jeans. Oh, his mother would be furious that he had ripped another pair of jeans again. Surely this time she would make him wear silly patches on his knees to teach him a lesson and the other kids would mock him! He felt miserable just imagining how the other kids would pick on him. He remembered how they had made fun of Kanen'tó:kon the last time, he had been forced to wear a tiny heart on a hole in his jeans until he had outgrown the bloody thing. Oh, his mother would surely find something even more embarrassing for him. In a mere two seconds his fear of the unknown forest around him had been replaced by his anguish about the very real possibility of having to wear patches on his ripped clothes from now on and once again he felt like crying, as he brushed the dirt from his clothes and slowly stood up.

Well, maybe he had not broken a bone or two, but still, his entire body hurt and he did his best to suppress a small hiccup.

As he finally took another look around, slowly stepping forward, there was nothing he was able to recognize, no matter how often he had wandered the woods with his parents or played hide and seek with his friends. To him, it was almost as if he had crossed over into a whole other world. Maybe he had. Maybe he would never find his way home now. He thought about Alice in Wonderland. His mother had read the story to him not too long ago. Maybe he was now in Wonderland himself? But he had not fallen into a rabbit hole. No, this could not be Wonderland then, could it?

Around him the trees stood so tightly together that they blocked out every bit of light and suddenly Connor was not even sure anymore if it was daytime at all. Maybe he had hit his head and fallen unconscious and it was already night now! No, surely he would remember knocking his head and falling unconscious, would he? At least he would remember waking up again. He tried to keep his head cool, the same way his father always told him to whenever a tantrum was approaching like a storm. It did not work and soon, after a few more steps, he again felt tears streaming down his face and found himself calling out for his father. »Raké:ni? Where are you?« But his own voice sounded thin to him and he immediately felt embarrassed about just how anxious it sounded. Did he not _just_ tell his father that he was in fact _not_ a baby anymore? And now here he was, calling for his dad like a small child. Well, in his defense, he was only four years old. He was allowed to call for his daddy like a small child because he was a small child.

Connor continued calling out for his father as he was moving forward while the thought crossed his mind, that it might be better to stay where he was, just in case his father was already looking for him. Surely he was. His current state of anxiousness and panic was disrupted, however, as he saw a flash of white between the trees and the bushes and it did not take long, until curiosity overpowered the miserable situation he was in.

So, he decided, against all better judgment, that he wanted to see what that white thing was and almost forgot about his father and his own fear of never finding back home again. Maybe he really was in Wonderland and the flash of white was the White Rabbit with its pocket watch. Maybe he was meant to follow it! Connor started to run, as the white seemed to get farther and farther away from him. For almost a second, he was sure that he had seen the figure of a man dressed completely in white, but then he was sure that he had just imagined things.

As he was moving forward, the world around him only grew darker and darker and even the sounds he was so used to, the rattle of hoofs, the stomping of little paws, the smacking sounds when a pine cone would hit the ground every once in a while, started to grow scarcer and scarcer and he was sure that soon they would die out entirely. »Raké:ni? Where are you?« He called out again, this time more silent and maybe only because his brain told him to, while his feet were already guiding him farther away from home.

After stumbling through the shrubs for quite some time, he came to another large clearing and it was the first time that he could actually see the sky again. It hung above him clear blue and without even the hint of a tiny little cloud as if nothing at all had happened to him in the past minutes. He could see the sun, if only barely, but enough to know that he had wandered off quite a bit. His grandfather had once tried to teach him how to navigate with the help of the sun, but no matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not do it.

Suddenly he felt uneasy. It was not the fear coming right back to him with all its might, it was something entirely else. Connor could feel it deep down in his stomach, the tiny feeling that something awful was going to happen. He felt nauseous. It was as if a storm was approaching and there was nothing he, a four year old boy, could do about it.

He could see the flash of white again and this time he was almost sure that it was indeed a man walking through the woods around him but ignoring the little boy that clearly had gotten lost. For the briefest moment, Connor was able to see the man’s face although it seemed almost blurry to him at the same instant. He wanted to call out, but he did not. His features were sharp, his expression stoic, his skin dark, but before he could see more, the man had vanished into thin air and left Connor startled. Before he could even realize what had happened, the sounds of the woods seemed to come back crashing down on him, accompanied by the sound of heavy paws stomping closer fast. As Connor saw the bear it was almost too late.

The bear only sniffed the air for a moment, as it stomped out on the clearing in front of the young boy. It was huge like a mountain in Connor's eyes, its fur had the color of ebony and its eyes were like black bottomless pits. Connor felt his knees trembling as the bear stepped closer, still sniffing the air, growling quietly as Connor was careful to step back quietly. One step after another, he slowly, carefully, moved backwards and away from the large beast. He had never seen a real bear, just like he before had never seen a real wolf, but was sure that the grey thing from earlier had had to be one. Oh, he was doomed! The bear would surely try to eat him! His parents would never know what had happened to him!

The bear seemed to be calm, while Connor moved back, but the moment Connor stepped on a branch that was immediately snapping in half under his weight, the bear let out a dangerous growl and Connor once more froze. Paralyzed with fear, he could only stare with his eyes wide with horror. As the bear came closer, Connor was unable to move even his little finger or to curl his toes. He was terrified and the bear only came closer and closer, until Connor could smell its fur and its wretched rotten breath. The bear did not attack him right away as they were mere inches apart. Still, on all fours, the beast stretched its neck to smell his face and the very much childish part of him wanted to extend his hand to touch its fur, but he tried to suppress the urge.

Only when another growl left the beast, Connor again jumped in fear, but before the bear could attack him, Connor saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his left eye, the bear howled in pain and then it ran off, the bolt of a crossbow sticking out of its side. Connor sunk to the ground, as the bear ran off, still shaking from his near death encounter with the beast, even though his mind was not yet ready to really understand what had been happening to him just now.

»Connor!« The voice of his father bellowed through the woods and as Connor turned his head to look where the voice was coming from, his father was already darting through the bushes and jumped out on the clearing. »Connor! Are you alright?« In an instant, his father crouched down beside him. Connor saw the small contraption on his father's left wrist. He had never questioned this thing whenever he had seen it. It looked like a very small crossbow – but different. He knew his mother was wearing something like this too whenever she was going on a hunt. He did not know what it was, but he was sure that his father had used this thing to scare off the bear.

»Raké:ni!« Connor howled and threw himself into his father's arms. He had never been happier to see his father's face, his ice blue eyes, his pale skin, his black hair and the frown that always seemed to linger on his face. »The bear wanted to eat me!«

His father lifted him up without wasting another second and Connor was quick to wrap his short legs and thin arms around him, his father's right arm supporting his weight. »So I’ve noticed.« Haytham hummed as he rubbed soothing little circles over his back, but started moving immediately. »I told you not to stray, Connor.«

»I’m sorry, Daddy.« He muffled, pressing his face against his father's strong shoulder. He did not like to admit it, but he was certainly very glad that his father had come to his rescue. In his group of friends in the village, he was always seen a little bit like a leader, Kanen’tó:kon thought even that he knew no fear, despite Connor being the youngest of the group, but the truth was, that Connor was very much afraid of being all alone in the woods, as he had now learned. »I never do it again.« He promised and glanced up at his father's face. Only for a second their eyes met and he could see the smirk pulling on his father's thin lips. They both knew his was an empty promise, but his father had enough decency not to point it out as he hummed in agreement.

After a while, Connor found himself staring at the necklace his father wore. He always hid it underneath his clothes, but it had slipped out from under the collar of his shirt now. It was a silver cross. Not a cross like the symbol of the Catholic Church as he had seen before on TV. It was a different kind of cross and Connor knew that there was a reason why his father hid the necklace from the other villagers. He only showed it whenever the three of them were alone at home. It was not the symbol his mother wore around her neck, though. Sometimes it seemed to be a reason for them to fight, but they would never fight whenever he would be awake and thus he barely got a hold of the reason for the fighting until now. The other villagers did not like his father that was why they lived a little closer to the forest, which Connor greatly liked.

They walked in silence back home and Connor only turned his head as the sunlight had him back. They left the forest and he could see their house not too far off. »The bear was cool, though.« Connor quietly mumbled as he saw his mother walking out of the house, as if she already wanted to come looking for her two men. Only then he tensed a little in expectation of the scolding that was about to rain down on him. »Oh no…« He muttered. »I don't want patches on my jeans, Daddy…«

**-End Prolog-**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**May 1998, Rockport Massachusetts**

They were fighting again, his parents. Connor could hear them through the thin walls of their house at the side of the forest and he wondered if their neighbors were able to hear his parents too, even though they were living so far off from the other houses around. What an odd thing to think about. Connor did not like it when they were fighting. He hated it. It had been a long day and so it was no wonder that Connor had gone to bed early and fallen asleep almost immediately as his head had hit the pillow. As he glanced at the clock on his bedside table (it was in the form of a red toy car with a fluorescent display so that he would be able to tell the time even at night), he asserted that it was almost half past eleven. His night light was still on and casting funny looking creatures onto his light blue walls. From his bed, he could see through the window of his small bedroom and was able to see the stars above. The moon was full tonight and its light shone brightly through the glass and made his room almost light enough to see everything, even his little tin soldiers that were lying scattered all across the floorboards.

He probably should not leave his room to go looking for his parents and yet he climbed out of his bed and carefully placed his naked feet on the ground. His parents never fought when he would be in earshot or when they generally thought that he might hear them and Connor knew this perfectly well. Sometimes, he would wake up from their fighting like he did tonight and hide under his covers, afraid his father might be gone the next morning. He was terrified when he would hear them fight like this and yet they generally seemed happy most of the time. Connor was quite sure that his parents loved each other, after all, they were often enough cuddling or canoodling and Connor would hide in embarrassment from it.

After he had made his first steps towards his bedroom door, he stopped and hurried back, only to grab his loyal and trusted companion, his plush wolf. The house was scary at night even with his parents still awake downstairs, even with his nightlight on. As he sneaked out on the hallway he could see the light coming from downstairs already. The hallway was narrow and the first floor only held the bathroom and his parents' bedroom at the end of the hallway. Connor's room was the closest to the landing and the stairs and thus he had not that much of a distance to bridge without making a noise. He did not wish to inform his parents of his presence just yet, even though a tiny part of him wanted to do exactly that. The more curious part of him wanted to know what they were fighting about, though.

As he reached the landing, he immediately went into hiding behind the banister. He remembered how his father had repainted it half a year ago. Connor had been sitting on the top step, idly playing with one of his toys, a small yellow truck, and had watched his father doing his work, until his father, out of the blue, had used his brush as a weapon and smudged white paint on Connor's nose. His father could be rather playful, but he could be stern and obnoxiously correct sometimes too. Still, Connor loved him dearly and he would never trade his dad for any other dad in the world.

Carefully, as if thinking that the banister might still be wet half a year later or as if he could still ruin his dad’s work, he tightened his hands around the white painted wood and tried to get a glimpse of his parents downstairs. From here he had a good overlook of the ground floor's hallway, the entrance door and a part of the living room. He could not see much of his parents, but he saw his mother's feet pacing around the living room like a tiger behind bars.

»Haytham, this needs to stop, I mean it.« He could hear his mother snort, bristling with anger. He knew this tone of hers well! His mother often enough reminded him of a wild bull, ready to throw itself into battle at any moment. She could be terrifying when she was angry. »It can't keep going on like this! What am I supposed to tell Ratonhnhaké:ton as to why you are always going away? He already asks about your trips and he already starts to question why the others look at you the way they do!«

»What am I supposed to do, Ziio? I can't change the way they perceive me and frankly, I do not care what they think about me as long as I can trust that _you_ understand and accept me the way I am. Connor will learn the truth soon enough and he will understand.« _Truth?_ , he thought? _What truth?_

»You need to make a decision, Haytham.« His mother's tone changed all of the sudden. She was still angry and her voice still deep like the growl of a tigress, but there was something more final and serious about it this time. »Soon Connor will learn everything, you are right, but what do you think he will do then? He will be terribly confused! And what are you even planning then? Is he going to learn the things the other kids will learn or are you going to take him away to have him taught what _your people_ do? You cannot ask Connor to make this decision because you are not willing to make it easier for him.« _Your people?_ What did his mother even mean with this? Connor was utterly lost and confused as he was listening in on them and immediately felt a little guilty for even doing so. It was not very nice to eavesdrop on other people.

»I can and will not just throw my ideals and my beliefs overboard like this. Why should I be the one who has to change? What is it about you and _your people_ « Again with this phrasing! »that make you think yours is the only true and right way? Why can't you accept that mine might actually be the right path instead? Or, which would be even more progressive to consider, that there is no such thing as a right or wrong path?«

»You cannot be serious, Haytham.« His mother huffed and finally, Connor started moving again. He did not quite know why, but he felt that their fight would only get worse if he would not intervene, and he did not like it when they would fight. He wanted to see them happy. »This is ridiculous! I can't believe we have this conversation again!«

»Well, I am sorry, but you knew exactly what you are getting yourself into, Ziio. You should have been aware that we would have to have this conversation sooner or later!« Now his father's voice sounded sharp, almost like a whip crashing down on the ground.

»Yes!« Connor crept down the stairs as silently as he could, even though he doubted that his parents would hear him over their yelling anyway. »Yes, I knew it would come to this, Haytham! And I told you back then! Oh, I was so naive, to think that this could really work despite our differences.«

Connor reached the end of the staircase, as his father finally grew a lot more silent. »What do you mean?« He asked and he sounded as if he was dreading her answer.

»I mean…« She began, but trailed off, before she regained her confidence. »I _mean_ , maybe it would have been better if we would have never gotten together in the first place.«

»Ista?« His voice was quiet and careful as he drew the attention of his parents towards him and he was quick to rub his eyes as if still tired, his plush wolf hanging from his left hand by its right paw. Oh, he knew how to play innocent if necessary, it was just that he did not like to lie like this to his parents, but this time the situation just called for drastic measures and it seemed to work because his parents stopped arguing. His mother seemed almost shocked as her eyes fell on Connor and his father, well, he looked angry, maybe even hurt.

Connor did not always understand everything the adults in his life would go through or fight about, but he did understand what his mother had said to his father and that it was quite mean indeed. He did not yet make the connection that he would not exist if his parents would never have gotten together. »Stop fighting.« He addressed them and tried to look stern as he stepped closer. The truth was, however, he felt terrified. He did not want his parents to separate or go their own ways. Many of the other children had only one parent with them, so Connor was quite used to it, but he had always been glad that he had both of them and he did not want his father to leave them.

»We are not fighting Pumpkin, I promise.« His mother said as her face changed from shock, surprise, and anger into a loving and reassuring smile. He was only four years old, but Connor could detect a lie and knew when a smile was not genuine. His mother only wanted to soothe him and he did not like this. He wanted his parents to be honest with him and the fact that there seemed to be something that they were not telling him, made him antsy and nervous and maybe even a little angry.

»Yes, you are and I don’t like it. Stop it.« His mother bridged the distance between them as she walked on bare feet through the living room. Within an instant, she had scooped him up on her arms to plant a kiss on his forehead.

»I'm sorry, Pumpkin. We will.« She said and threw a glance over her shoulder to his father who still stood there with a somewhat stony expression on his face beside the large dark blue couch on which they liked to sit together to watch something on TV before he nodded as Connor's eyes fell upon him as well. »Let's bring you back to bed, alright?«

Needless to say, that Connor was not all too happy about the way his mother disregarded his concerns and fears and put him back to bed, ultimately incapacitating him in the process as if he still were nothing but a baby. She stayed to read him a bedtime story after he had fallen asleep immediately this evening having this exhausting and adventurous day lying behind him. The one minute he had talked to her about the bear in the forest and about the man in the white clothes, the next second he had been out cold. And yet he did not feel satisfied as his mother's voice filled the room so late at night.

She had the most wonderful voice when she would read stories to him. Her voice was soft and gentle but could be fierce and sharp if she was angry. She had a way of staring down people with her brown eyes that not even Connor was immune to, but now her eyes were soft and warm. He could see his father leaning in the doorframe of his room, as she read the story of the young boy who once had traded his cow for three magic beans. He seemed sad, but Connor was too tired to ask why.

The next day came as it always did. He awoke to the sound of birds outside his window, sitting on the branch of an especially large and dangerous looking tree and with the sun shining through his window. It came with the delicious smell of his mother's breakfast, bacon and scrambled eggs and even the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee. He did not like coffee (of course, he had tasted it once, as both his parents had not been paying attention), but he liked the smell of it. He rose without hesitation, grabbing his plush wolf by its paw and making his way downstairs.

He found his parents in the kitchen, as he always did. His father already sat at the table with his newspapers open in front of him and a cup of steaming hot coffee standing on the table. Everything seemed just the way it always had been and Connor was happy to see that his parents were getting along again. At least in his mind, they did, after all, he was but a child and he could not always get behind the complex emotions that adults went through on a regular basis. To him, all seemed well and he enjoyed his breakfast with his parents, chatting away the early morning as the radio was blaring in the background with the news broadcaster blabbering about the latest developments in the country (The 124th Kentucky Derby had ended with Kent Desormeaux winning aboard his horse _Real Quiet_ in 2:02.20, Kevin Lloyd, a British actor, had died and CBS was going to telecast the Wizard of Oz for the last time), only interrupted by the weather forecast as Connor finished his meal and was allowed to leave the table so he could get dressed and go out to play with his friends.

But, it did not quite play out like this because as soon as Connor came back running downstairs, dressed and ready to go play while his parents would do whatever parents did when their children were not at home, his father suddenly grabbed him from behind to lift him on his shoulders in a matter of just mere seconds. Connor had not noticed how his father had approached him from the kitchen silently like a cat that was trying to catch a mouse, but he squealed with joy nonetheless as he was up high on his father's strong shoulders. »Where are we going?« Connor grinned widely as he crossed his arms on the crown of his father's head and tried to have a glimpse down on his face. He could see how his father's blue eyes tried to find his as he looked up and saw the grin on his face.

»Out.« He said.

»But I wanted to go to Kanen'tó:kon« Connor reminded his father of his play date with his best friend. It was not very polite not to go to a scheduled meeting, after all. And his father should know this because he had been the one to teach this lesson to Connor.

»You can. I bring you over, don't worry. But I need to talk to you on the way.« His father then explained as he moved towards the door. Connor could hear the shower running in the bathroom and thus assumed that his mother had to be in there. Somehow he did not like what his father told him, though. It sounded like bad news, even though his father was trying to act as cheerful as he usually would, as they left the house and slowly walked down the little path that led to their front door from the main road of the village. Their house was not big. It was not very exciting looking either, not like the houses Connor would sometimes see on Television in all those funny little shows that were running in the evening which he would sometimes watch with his parents. It was completely made out of wood and it was cozy and warm inside.

»You are going away again, aren't you?« Connor sighed after they had stepped away from the house. Their house was a little off from the main village core - if there even was something like a village core, but he could already see his friend's house in the distance. The village was small, only a handful of houses and the big mansion on this hill. They even had their own school and his father had once told him that the school had once been a church, many, many decades ago during the revolutionary war. It was a nice thought, in Connor's mind. It was as if God would look down on them when they would be in school and would see if they were concentrating on their studies as they should. It was a little frightening too. What if he would not always be able to concentrate? Would God be angry with him then? Would God maybe even try to punish him then? He did not like that thought as much.

Well, he still had a little while left until he needed to worry about stuff like that anyway.

Now the more important question was if his father wanted to leave him and his mother again. Of course, his parents, like every other parent, needed to go to work too. He knew this. He understood this. And yet, he did not like it. His mother worked in the community, mostly. Their entire community was almost completely independent from the outside world. They provided for themselves. They had hunters and fishers and farmers. Everything they needed to survive came from within the community. That was at least what his mother had told him. She was one of the hunters, which was only one more reason why they were living so close to the forest. Sometimes he worried that his mother might get attacked by a bear or a wolf and would not come back home again, but he tried not to let those thoughts get to him. His mother was strong and fierce. She was a good hunter and she had shown him how to set up traps for smaller animals and how to fish.

His father, on the other hand, worked inside the big city. Boston, he said. Sometimes somewhere else. His father was working in a big company, he often said, and he needed to travel for them quite a lot to places far away. He did not quite know what his father meant, but he was sure, that his father was something like _Indiana Jones_ because he had told him stories about certain artifacts that he was trying to find all over the world. Kanen'tó:kon had once told him that his dad was way too boring to be like _Indiana Jones_. Kanen'tó:kon thought that, at best, his father was an antique dealer. Connor did not know what that was. Sometimes he would not leave them for weeks, working from home with his laptop, locked in his office so that Connor would not disturb him, but when he left, he was sometimes just as long gone.

He hated it when his father would leave them because of his work. He could never tell when he would be back home and even though he often brought some kind of present for him back home, Connor much rather had him home all the time.

»Yes« His father replied with a sigh. »I have to go back to Boston for a week or two.«

»When?« Connor asked and could hardly bring himself not to sound like a whiny little baby. His friends often mocked him and said that he was too clingy and that boys were not supposed to be so clingy. Well, he loved his parents. He loved to be with them. He missed them when they weren't around. Even his mother had to leave sometimes for a little while and every time that those incidents would overlap with his father's absence he would either stay with Kanen'tó:kon or with Achilles, the old man on the hill. It seemed to be normal to him, which did not make it better, but he knew that the parents of the other kids in the village were also sometimes gone for a little while. Raising a child was a community effort in this village. They were looking out for each other.

»Tonight.« Kanen'tó:kon’s house came closer with every step and Connor wished it wouldn't. His father's steps were crunching on the pebble stone path that cut through the village. Only fifteen homes were located alongside this road and two rivers cut through the area, with the big house on the hill watching over all of them. Connor loved it here. He had never been to the big city and only seen it on TV, but he liked it better here. It was quiet and peaceful and they did not need to worry about anything. He had never seen any outsider coming to the village, probably because no one knew about it. The area was green and lush. The _Homestead_ , as the others called this place, was embraced by sharp jagged mountains on the one side and the Atlantic and steep cliffs on the other side. The winters here tended to grow extremely cold and snow would lie like a blanket over the houses and streets. Autumn always brought sharp winds and storms their way. In summer it grew unbearably hot and humid and it would not rain for weeks. Spring was probably the most bearable time, at least for the adults, because kids like him tended not to be bothered by bad weather. Whatever the adults wanted to call the climate here in Rockport, Connor could only think of one word to describe the Homestead, the area and the climate: wild.

»No.« Connor replied as he leaned his head on his father's. Haytham however only chuckled at this.

»Don't worry, I'll stay until you are asleep, okay?«

»No.« Maybe he was just a little stubborn, but he knew that there was no way to escape this. A week or two without his dad. He did not look forward to it.

»You have your friends. You’ll see, I will be back in no time and I bet that you will already have forgotten about my absence tomorrow evening.«

»The other kids always mock me when you are not here.« Connor pouted and this time it made his father slow down his steps just a little.

»What do you mean, little wolf?« It felt good to have his father calling him by his pet name. He liked _Pumpkin_ too, but _little wolf_ was more special to him and only a handful of people were even allowed to call him that.

»Well« Connor began and tried his best to sound a lot more grown up than he actually was. »they tease me. They say that I am too clingy. And they say that you are weird.« This caused his father to stop, actually. It was almost funny. Then again his father was a little odd sometimes.

»Weird?« He replied and sounded offended as his voice increased in pitch just a little. Connor almost laughed because of his father's tone as he sat him down again as they were close enough at Kanen'tó:kon's house. His father rarely ever delivered Connor at the doorstep of his friends. Connor usually ran up to his friend's house alone as all the kids here did. »What do you mean weird?« He even looked offended as Connor had the chance to see his dad’s face. The devil inside of him wanted to annoy his father in not telling him and running off, knowing that his father would not rest until he knew, but in light of his father's leave, he did want to cherish the last hours they had before that.

»They say that you are not like the other dads.« Connor shrugged as he straightened his t-shirt. »They say that you talk weird and act weird and that you sound weird.«

He expected a lecture from his father about being mean to other people or why it was that he was so weird in the eyes of the other children, but as his father's eyes caught Connor's friend Kanen'tó:kon who was already approaching them from his house, his father only lifted his chin and snorted. »Tell them _they_ are weird.«

※※※※※※※

It was always the same and Haytham E. Kenway did not need to have the eyes of his wife resting upon him in silent judgment every time to know how she felt about their situation. Every time he needed to go back to his work, they found themselves in the very same predicament and it started to leave a mark on their relationship and thus on their little son. Connor was not dumb and they both knew that Connor could understand the severity of their fights. That was why they tended not to fight when he was around. It started to become increasingly harder, though.

Their whole relationship had been bound to fall apart sooner or later and they both knew it. They should not have gotten married in the first place and yet they had and Haytham did not regret it. He did not regret it either that they had a son. He would not want to imagine the world without Connor in it.

He had not planned on falling in love with an Assassin, let alone with an Assassin who had been sent to kill him. He had not planned on marrying said Assassin. He had not planned on living a lie and a secret double life. He had not planned on dragging his son into all of this. And yet it had gotten to this very point. They both knew that they had to discuss those things sooner or later. They both, like every parent, wanted Connor to follow in their footsteps but neither one of them wanted to force Connor in one direction or the other. That was at least what they had promised each other, but Haytham was not naive enough to really believe it. His son was at the risk to grow up to become his mortal enemy. His entire life was shaped by the Assassins around him, indoctrinating him already, trying to paint the Templars as purely evil and cruel so that Connor would want to choose them over their enemies. Connor had a noble heart and that was clear already. He was only four years old and yet Haytham could already see the path that his son would want to choose later in life clearly before him. The only chance he had to maybe sway his son into following his example instead was to show him the reality of things.

Needless to say that his wife was not at all fond of that very idea. He wouldn't be either if their places were swapped.

»So, for how long are you gone this time? Two weeks? Three? Really, Haytham, we cannot keep this up. What are we going to tell Connor when he is old enough?« It was the same discussion over and over and over again and slowly, Haytham started to tire of it. »We have to make a decision.«

»You mean _I_ have to make a decision, at least be honest and say it as you mean it. You want me to change teams because you already think that only your way is the right one, isn't that the truth?«

»We both knew that it would come to this sooner or later. Now, don't make this any harder. Not for us and not for Connor.« Ziio's voice was almost pleading, but then again, she was not one to plead. She was strong and she knew exactly what she wanted from life. There was no question whether she believed to already be on the right path in life. They both knew that she thought exactly that. Haytham could not even fault her. She had been raised here. She had been raised as an Assassin, just as he had been raised as a Templar for the better part of his life. Their ideologies were deeply engraved in both of them and turning their backs to them meant betraying themselves.

»Oh no, _I_ make this harder? For whom? For you? Have you at least once considered that I might feel differently than you?«

»You cannot possibly think that yours is the right way, Haytham.« He brows were furrowed as she looked at him before she finally put away the plate she had been drying with her dishtowel.

»Maybe there isn't a right way. Have you considered that?« They were talking in circles. He had already said these very words to her in the night before and yet she refused to even think about it. She was incredibly stubborn and their son had inherited this trait.

»Maybe it is true that a relationship such as ours can never work out.«

»So what are you proposing then?« Haytham replied as he finally turned even his body around to fully face his wife. It was almost like a stand-off. He could hear Connor rummaging in the bathroom. He had come home dirty as if he had played in a puddle of mud. Well, he _had_ played in a puddle of mud. They already had had dinner and just a few seconds ago, Haytham had heard his son climb out of the bathtub all by himself. Connor always liked to do things on his own to show to his parents that he was able to - even though it had sounded as if a tiny elephant was turning around in a china shop destroying everything in its wake.

Ziio’s face was unreadable, even to him. She just stared blankly at him with her dark eyes resting upon his face. She was a rare beauty. She was not conventionally beauty like the young women on the cover of magazines or the ones he would see in the city. She did not need makeup to look pretty and she did not need a perfect little nose. Her jaw was sharp and strong - thicker than any woman would prefer usually - her forehead large and stubborn, her brows unkempt and dark, the little freckles that were dusting her nose and cheeks only one more tiny imperfection in the eyes of more shallow people. To him, she was gorgeous exactly because of those imperfections.

»Are you really considering a divorce?« He then asked and was once more glad to have been raised to be the most British person that had ever roamed this world. Otherwise, it would not have been so easy to swallow the lump in his throat that came with discussions as this. »I mean, I have never heard of a relationship like ours that would end so civil.«

Ziio opened her mouth, possibly to reply something a little more sharply and annoyed because of his remark, but as she did, Connor's voice made her stop right away as it sounded from the top of the staircase.

»Daaaaaad!« The little one shouted down. »Dad it’s time for my bedtime story!« Because little Connor exactly knew what time it was and how to make sure that he would get what he thought was his right.

»We’ll talk about this when I am back.« Haytham addressed his wife once more before he turned towards the kitchen door. »I'm off as soon as Connor sleeps.« He did not say _I love you._ Not because he would not feel this way towards her, not because they both were not that type of person who always made sure that they would say those lousy three words, but because he felt that this was not the right moment. Maybe a part of him even felt as if they had lost something along the line. He could not even definitely say what it was, only that this was the truth and that they better started dealing with in a more honest way as they had until now.

He left the kitchen without looking back again and walked upstairs. His son was already waiting at the top of the stairs, dressed in his blue pajamas with the wolf print on it, his feet naked on the wooden floorboards and his long hair wild and untamed and still a little moist. Haytham was tempted to start arguing with Connor that he needed to dry his mane properly, but instead, he just smirked at him and grabbed his hand as he reached the first-floor landing. »A bedtime story, huh?« He sighed as Connor led him down the hallway and into his room. »I do not believe that you even deserve one after playing in the mud.«

»Oh, Dad, come on!« Connor exclaimed as he let go of his father's hand only to look at him the most critically a small child could possibly muster. Connor was quite good at this. He clearly got those judging eyes from his mother. Still, Haytham only found himself smirking as Connor climbed onto his bed and wasted no time to tuck him in and sat down on the edge of Connor's small bed. Ziio had built it herself. Of course, he would have liked to say that he had been the one to build the bed, but the truth was that Haytham could not even hang up a picture without her. He had two left hands when it came to handiwork like this.

»Okay, Pumpkin, what do you want to hear?« Haytham sighed deliberately sounding beaten, but could not hide the smirk pulling on his lips and he was aware that his son could very well see this. Connor was very attentive for sure. He was different than other kids his age and that Haytham did not only think because he was _his_ boy and thus special in the first place (even though this was also true) but because it was the truth. Sometimes Haytham did have the opportunity to watch the children of the village and he had already noticed that his son was much faster in learning new things than these other children, even though he was the youngest of the bunch. Of course, he was proud to see this.

Instead of answering his question, though, Connor just stared at him with his big dark owlish eyes. He had undoubtedly his mother's eyes and even his mother's freckles dusting just the bridge of his nose and the thin skin under his eyes. His hair was already at shoulder length, dark, almost black, and thick but Haytham felt no desire to cut it. »Why are you and Mummy always fighting?« His son suddenly asked inquisitively as he was lying on his right side to face his father.

»We don’t fight.« Haytham replied and a part of him even felt a little guilty to lie to his son like this, a feeling that was only enforced by the look Connor gave him. »Well, you see, Connor. Adults sometimes fight, that’s just normal. You fight with your friends too, don’t you?«

»Not like this.«

»No, of course not, but you do fight and then you apologize and get along with them again.«

»Maybe.«

»Adults do the same thing. There is nothing to worry about, little Wolf.« Even though Ziio's words were still engrained in his brain since last night and even more so since their argument mere minutes ago. It was not that they would not love each other anymore. They did. They had taken a great risk as they had decided to get together and even go as far as to marry. Their relationship was in a sense forbidden, but while the Assassins seemed more forgiving in such matters, the Templars were not. They had known from the start that all of this would end in a catastrophe and the death of one of them, which was something that Haytham would rather avoid. Maybe now would be the time to go their separate ways. Maybe Ziio had secretly hoped he would change sides at one point and now that he was still not going to do it, she was growing more and more frustrated and agitated.

He was like a fox in the chicken house and surely the other Assassins were pressuring her to take matters into her own hands. This could be settled without bloodshed. He could either join the Assassins and throw everything he believed in overboard, or he could just leave, never to see his son again. Of course, those things were not equally bad and if anything he would prefer the first option, but to him, this almost felt like suicide in a way. He had had the chance to join the Assassins earlier in his life, but he had decided against it. He had chosen his path in life and what example would he be for his son, f he would just throw everything overboard like this and betray himself and his own convictions? Well, at least he would be in his son's life.

»You are coming back, are you?« His son sounded a lot more unsure and fearful than a four-year-old boy should.

»Of course I am.« Haytham smiled. »I am just going to Boston to meet some people and do my job, it's not as if I would go to war.« He then laughed and ruffled through Connor dark mane only to hear him squeak and see him squirm. It still felt like he was going to war, though and in a sense he was. There was a war brewing underneath the surface, but his son did not know anything of it. A part of him wished that Connor would never have to learn about this war either. In this regard, he was like every other father too. He wanted his son safe and unharmed, nothing more than this.

And although he was telling his son that he would come back, this somehow felt like saying goodbye to him. Maybe he would not come back. Things were not always that easy, not always so cut and dry. Connor's eyes still remained on his face, unflinching and unfaltering. He had a strong will and he was more stubborn than a tiny ram. So, with another gentle sigh and a small smile, Haytham moved his fingers away from his son's scalp and towards his own neck. With skilled ease, he opened the lock of his necklace and took it off. »Sit up.« He ordered Connor and his son, of course, followed his order immediately, a new sort of shimmer in his dark eyes as he watched in excitement how his father took off his necklace.

»You will give it back to me when I come back home, alright?« Haytham inquired with the most serious expression he could possibly muster and Connor, of course, nodded quickly and eagerly. With a small moment of hesitation, Haytham finally closed the necklace around Connor's thin neck and brushed his thumb over the Templar Cross dangling over Connor's chest now. He had worn the cross since he had been a young man and never taken it off ever since. His old mentor, a man by the name of Reginald Birch, had gifted it to him as he had joined the Templar Order. And not matter what things could be said about Reginald, no matter what Haytham might feel for this man, it was an honor to have it and although he did not want to force a side on Connor, he felt oddly proud to see him wear the cross.

After this, Connor seemed more at ease and finally, Haytham was able to read him his favorite story for what felt like the millionth time. Connor would never grow tired of the story of _Little Red Riding Hood_ , mainly for the big bad wolf in it. As Connor had fallen asleep and Haytham left the room, turning off the lights in the process, it felt oddly final to him. It almost felt as if he would never come home again, as if he would never see this room again or his son sleeping in his small bed like this, with the nightlight casting odd figures onto the walls.

For a moment, Haytham paused in the door and watched his son, lying curled up into a ball with his plush wolf in his arms and savored the moment. He tried to engrave the image in his brain because oddly enough he felt like this would be his last chance to do so. But then he turned around and left. Never, since he had found his path in life, had he felt so unsure of the road that was lying ahead of him than he did now. All his life he had been able to see the path clearly in front of him, but now it was dull and dark with myriads of doors of twists and turns and he, for some reason, felt utterly lost.

 

**\- End of Chapter 2 -**


	3. Chapter 3

**May 1998, Boston Massachusetts**

Three weeks. It had been three weeks already since he had left home, and that after he had initially promised his son he would be back in two weeks at the most. He was sure that Connor would forgive him in no time, but he had never liked lying to his only child. It was already more than enough what they, Ziio and he, did not tell him. The least he could do was to stick to his promises and yet he found himself in a white conference room, sitting on a black leather armchair, discussing things of which the normal public had no clue with various complicated documents, curves, and numbers lying scattered on the mahogany table in front of him.

Haytham started to grow more and more impatient these days and easily bored by things he once had found oddly fascinating. Unlike some of his men, he was not a blunt warrior. Not just, at least. He had always been more fascinated by the artifacts that those who came before had left behind for them to find. That was how he had met Ziio. He had been on the hunt to locate the _Grand Temple_ , as they called it, and to find the key that would open this temple. Needless to say, that he had not found either one.

»It's a chance, isn't it?« One of the men beside him asked with curiously raised brows as he glanced at Haytham again. He was a pudgy guy with already thinning brown hair. One of those who rarely had ideas of their own. He was dressed in a white lab coat despite the fact that around him everyone was wearing suit and tie. »I mean, we do not always have that much amount of luck when it comes to finding these artifacts.«

»It's dangerous.» Another man said. This one, Haytham liked a lot more for his sharp mind and his brilliance in tactics. Johnathan Pitcairn was a man of the military through and through and he, just like Haytham himself, rather had all the information that was available before even contemplating a decision. »The Animus is far from being perfect.«

»It is a risk worth taking!« The first man demanded.

Haytham knew what was at stake here in this situation. It was his very own sanity and health that was at risk if he would put himself in the situation that was presented in front of him - and very colorful so. He had never been a big fan of the Animus Project. Of course, it sounded fascinating to be able to relive the memories of one’s own ancestor, but it was hard to see the good in something so dangerous. And dangerous it was, as was evident by the recent failures in the project. No matter how much Warren Vidic tried to praise this pet project of his, Haytham still always fought with an unsettling feeling. But up until now, the project had never really fazed him in any way. He had been working for the Templar Order for the best part of his life now and although it was tedious to try and find the Pieces of Eden the old-school way - as his colleagues at Abstergo called it - it was the more rewarding experience, he thought.

He would put months, maybe even years, into the research and his travels around the globe only to have the ability to hold one of those items in his own two hands.

»It is safe.« Vidic sighed, positively and utterly annoyed by the constant back and forth in the conference room that was keeping him away from his laboratory and his beloved machines. »There is nothing to worry about! Would I have volunteered back in the day if I thought it wasn't safe?«

»What about Subject One?« Shay suddenly chimed in from Haytham's left-hand side, his voice as sharp as the blade he liked to use when things got a little out of hand. Shay was six years younger than Haytham himself, but what he was lacking in experience he compensated with passion, dedication and a sharp mind. »What about Subject Three?« He continued a small grim smile on his pale face and his dark brown eyes resting upon Vidic's face in a silent fight for superiority.

»Only minor incidents. The exception proves the rule, Mr. Cormac.« Vidic insisted as stubbornly as only a scientist who was presented with a mountain of dead people due to their research could muster.

»So when was the last time you saw Mr. Cross?« Haytham interrupted the two arguing men and for the first time since he had sat down in this chair in this very room, he could see how Warren's face turned red in a mixture of shame and anger. He looked like his son, whenever Haytham would catch him red-handed in doing something he was not allowed to. He should not think as much about Connor when he was at work. He needed to focus and to keep his head clear, no matter how hard it sometimes was. He missed Connor. He missed Ziio. No matter how much he loved the thrill of the chase and the search for the artifacts, he liked his easy life in Rockport. He liked working in his dusty little office or hacking firewood in the backyard. He liked watching Connor run around the village or the forest. He liked to see the progress his little whirlwind made with every day. But he was aware that he was not able to keep this secret life forever. He needed to make a decision.

Sadly, there was no decision to be made, because there was no leverage. He could not leave the Order and expect to live. The Assassins, as anarchistic as they were, as blind as they were to the truth, were a whole lot more accepting in this matter. Yes, Ziio and his son were bound by blood to them, but they would let them go if this was what they desired, trusting that they would repay them their generosity with keeping their mouths shut about their hiding places all over the world. It was incredibly naïve and dangerous, of course, but it was this belief in the good little grain in all of them that distinctly separated them from their counterparts in this endless war. The Templars were not that generous.

»Haytham, I don't think that you understood what I'm saying. We found a trace to not one but numerous pieces of Eden and were able to follow their trace through _your_ bloodline of all people. Your own ancestors had been in contact with them! If you would just decide to give it a try, we could easily locate them or at least get a hint to where they might be located.«

Haytham rolled his eyes and leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, but Shay was quicker to answer for him than he himself was. »He is not going to do it, Vidic. We will find those artifacts. We don't need the Animus to do that. Has our quota not proven our worth yet? I mean, really! Whatever do we need to do so that you will finally see that we are very much capable of finding the Pieces of Eden without your fancy little toy?«

»This ancestor of mine.« Haytham began and cut Shay right off with it only to see the spark of hope in Vidic cold eyes while a certain part of him felt as though he was betraying Shay after his friend had made it perfectly clear how he would defend Haytham if necessary. Connor would say that Vidic's eyes looked like those of a dead fish staring blankly at him. He really should stop thinking about his son. »Tell me more about him.«

※※※※※※※

**June 1998, Rockport Massachusetts**

Connor loved their little village. He loved it to play with Kanen'tó:kon and the other kids in the thick and lush forest surrounding the small community that was the Homestead. He enjoyed running through the village, fast like the wind itself. Sometimes they would find themselves on the hill where they would then hide in the old stables of the manor. The old man still had horses and Connor was eager to learn how to ride them because he was fascinated by it when he would see it on TV. He was too little, though, as his mother and his older friends liked to tell him with playful smirks on their faces, thriving in the anger it provoked in Connor whenever he would hear that he was too little or too young to do something. Achilles always reminded him of how dangerous it could be for him to come near the horses without an adult by his side for supervision and yet Achilles often seemed to be the only one to understand how antsy Connor would grow if he would only got to hear that he was too young, too little, too-anything. He would take him to the side and talk to him with his soft voice, in the same way, he would talk to an adult until Connor's restless anger would be soothed and the reason for it coming up in the first place only a faint memory.

»Ratonhnhaké:ton! Wait for me!« Kanen'tó:kon was already panting and clutching his sides as Connor reached the top of the cliffs behind the large manor that towered over the village. From high up here, he could see far across the ocean and the small cove that nestled in the curve of the mountains and cliffs. Achilles had told him that in the old days the cove had had its own proper harbor, but now there only was a narrow pier left and the house of the former harbormaster that had been living down there until his death. Now only a small boat was lying tied to the pier nudging against the wood of the stilts with each small wave. Connor did not know why. »I'm not as fast as you!« Kanen'tó:kon wheezed as he finally came to a halt behind him.

»That's because you are fat.« Connor replied unflinchingly. He knew that Kanen'tó:kon would not be sad about his words. It was all in good fun and, well, he was getting a little chubby. Kanen'tó:kon was two years older than him and had already started to go to school with the other kids in the village. Connor was the only one who was not yet allowed to join them. Well, there were a few other kids who did not go to school yet, but they were babies.

Connor was restless whenever he was roaming the village all by himself since Kanen'tó:kon had joined the other kids. He hated that he was the odd one out, not only because of some mysterious reason no one really wanted to talk about, but now also because he was the only one who did not yet go to school. Of course, he could still play with the other kids, but not as much as they used to. They were all so busy nowadays. And he was left alone. An outsider. Today was Saturday, however, and he had all his friends to himself. Well, at least he had Kanen'tó:kon because they had lost the rest of their group to some other game they wanted to play. He liked it better this way anyway for he hated the way the older kids would shroud their words in mystery when they would talk about certain things, always accompanied by the look of someone who did know something that another person did not yet know. They were all pretty smug nowadays.

He took another few steps towards the edge of the cliff and heard Kanen'tó:kon gasp behind him. »Be careful Ratonhnhaké:ton!« He hissed and grabbed for his left arm to pull him back from the edge. There was a small stone crunching under Connor's right foot and he jolted back from the edge just a little. It was not just that he was afraid that he could fall down, it was only the shock and surprise from the sudden attack of his best friend grabbing him so quickly and pulling him back that almost made him lose his footing.

He could already feel his cheeks turn red in anger for nothing in the world he hated more than to be treated like a baby by the other children - or his parents. »Why did you do that?« He growled as he turned around and put his hands on his hips. He could see the big mansion from their position on the cliffs now that he was facing away from the ocean again. It was just a little down the path that led them up here. There was a bit of smoke coming out of one of the chimneys. Of course, this way of heating was a little old-fashioned nowadays, but most of the houses of their community still used firewood and fireplaces around the house. He did not quite know why, but he liked it. Of course, they had regular heaters around the house too, but Connor had always loved to sit in front of a crackling fire in the living room, at best with a mug of hot chocolate when it was cold outside.

His father sometimes spent hours and hours hacking firewood into smaller pieces to store them in a small shed behind their house. Connor always found himself watching in awe how his father would swing the ax down on the chunks of wood. He was strong, probably even stronger than the other men of the village – or at least he was in Connor's eyes. »I had everything under perfect control!«

»You could have fallen down!« Kanen'tó:kon insisted with a frown on his face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at him as sternly as any six-year-old boy would be able to. Of course, Connor was not quite as intimidated as Kanen'tó:kon was probably hoping he was. Instead, Connor rolled his eyes and kicked at a small stone on the ground. »Why did you even want to come here? You always want to come here.«

»I like it here.« Connor replied before he sat down on the ground cross-legged. He loved the breeze up here, the sharp wind that would rip on his hair, the sounds of the seagulls that were circling the bay and the crashing of the waves against the sharp cliffs and rocks. After a moment of hesitation, Kanen'tó:kon joined him on the ground, sitting down on the cold stone of the cliffs and looking miserable by doing so, probably because he already heard his mother's scolding in his ears for having stained his clothes again.

»You come here with your father often, don't you?« Kanen'tó:kon suddenly asked and as Connor dared to look at his best friend, he could see how Kanen'tó:kon's eyes had found the necklace he was wearing. Usually, Connor would hide it underneath his shirt, as his father always did, but it must have slipped out from under his collar and now the silver cross was glistening in the warm sunlight. Even though there were only a few little white clouds trespassing the sky, Connor thought that it looked as if a storm was about to hit the Homestead. »Do you think he will come back again?«

»Of course he comes back!« Connor immediately shot back at his friend, his voice sharp and angry as if Kanen'tó:kon had personally insulted him with this ridiculous question. »Why wouldn't he?«

Kanen'tó:kon looked positively uncomfortable under his stare. Good. »Well, my mom says it would be better if he would stay away. She says he doesn't belong here and that he will only bring danger to all of us.«

»Your mom is stupid.« Under different circumstances, Connor would not have attacked his best friend like this and yet the words had just slipped out without his permission. He did not feel sorry, though. Kanen'tó:kon's mom _was_ stupid. Even his own mother said this sometimes. His mother liked to say that Kanen'tó:kon's mom was like a big cow, too lazy to see what was beyond her garden fence while chewing on the same patch of grass over and over and over again. His friend was a calm boy for the most part and unlike the others, he had not grown smug since he had started school, yet. He liked to play around and cause a little chaos with Connor as he allowed Connor to lead the way mostly, even though Connor was the younger one of them. Kanen'tó:kon was not a very good leader himself anyway. Kanen'tó:kon was like his mother in some regard and he only rarely got angry and never without good reason. Apparently, Connor had given him a good enough reason with his quite careless remark, however, because Kanen'tó:kon suddenly jumped up again.

» _You_ are stupid!« He growled. »It's true what the others are saying! You are just as mean as your dad! He should have taken you with him! You don't belong here just as much as he!«

Connor was not even hurt, as Kanen'tó:kon stomped off still foaming with anger at his younger friend, he was affronted, if anything. Of course, he did belong here! And of course, his father belonged to this community! Or did they? It was true that he felt like the odd one out and that his father as probably feeling the same way. It was true that the other families tended to avoid them a little, but until now, Connor had never found insult in this. He had always been glad that no one wanted to interfere with his little family. But since his father had left them he started to feel more and more like a lonely wolf. Alien to the rest of this community.

As Connor looked after Kanen'tó:kon, he felt just a little as if he had lost his only ally in this village. It was not true, of course. He knew that he had no reason to feel ostracized. Yes, it was true that his father was not liked by the other people in the village, but what about him? If it was true and his father did not belong here - did he?

※※※※※※※

Connor stayed out of his father's office for the most part. He knew that this was a place he was not exactly allowed to venture in. He was aware that his father would be angry if he would catch him, but this was something Connor was glad to risk now, if this would mean that his father would finally come home again as if summoned by the sudden rule breaking of his son like the Djinn in Aladdin whenever someone would rub the magic oil lamp. Four weeks. He had been gone for four weeks now, even though he had promised to come home as fast as possible. Even his mother was behaving a little odd because of his father's absence. She seemed unsure whether he would come back at all, every time Connor asked her when his dad would finally come back home to them.

»What are you doing in here?« His mother's voice made him jolt in surprise and the book he had been holding just fell to the floor with a loud thumb. There was no way to hide that he had snooped around his father's stuff now and Connor was painfully aware of this fact.

»Nothing…« He stated even though he knew that it was a very sorry attempt of lying to his mother, which was made painfully clear by the way his mother looked down on him. Her dark brown hair was hanging over her left shoulder and chest in a braid, her mahogany colored eyes resting upon her small son, her delicate hands on her hips, her torso leaned down towards him just slightly. Connor had always thought that his mother was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and he still thought that, but she also was the scariest woman in the whole wide world whenever she wanted to be.

»Hm.« She made, but Connor, being the smart kid that he was, was quick to find something he could distract his mother with.

»Did you know that the Sasquatch is living in the Black Creek?« His mother raised her left eyebrow and formed a thin line with her lips. »The other kids said that they heard that the Sasquatch is living near a waterfall in Black Creek!«

The shadows were growing longer outside, as the sun was slowly starting to set over the sea. Connor would sometimes go to watch the sunset at the cliffs with his parents. Soon the sun would be devoured by the sea and the night would swallow the village. Through the small round window of his father's office, under which his large wooden desk was located, he could see the sky slowly becoming darker and the first black clouds gathering high over the tree line. Surely tonight it would rain, if not even storm.

Sometimes, Connor liked to sneak out through the window in his room, an escape route his parents thankfully did not yet know of. His window allowed him to climb on the roof of the back porch quite easily and from there down onto the rainwater barrel that stood right underneath the porch roof, connected to the rain drain, which he would use to climb down like an action hero on TV. He was not tall enough to make that jump yet. There was no way of escaping his father's office without leaving traces or using the door, though. He would only be able to climb on top of his desk and thus ruining his documents that were strewn across the surface seemingly carelessly. The window tended to be jammed on hot days and it would need a little more strength to open it. Surely the gush of wind, if he would succeed, would then rip some of the papers that his father had pinned and taped to the walls around from the dull white wallpaper. It would not be silent and once he would have climbed out of the window, he would land right in his mother's herb garden.

His mother sighed deeply, but then, miraculously, her frown started to disappear and she ruffled through his thick dark hair gently. »You miss him, do you?«

Connor could feel the heat creeping up his neck, to his ears and then spreading all over his face until his whole head was aflame. »I'm not a baby, Ista.« He concluded stubbornly. »I know that he has work to do and that he will be back soon. There is no reason to miss him.« That was, of course, a blatant lie. There was more than enough good reason to miss his father. And he would not be in his oh so very forbidden to enter office, if this would not be the case. He just felt more connected to him in this room. He could almost smell his dad in here. Even though he was not able to read all those books that he was keeping inside the room, he often sat down on his leather chair to just skim through the pages. His father's chair was soft and comfortable and the room was warm even when the sunlight would not shine through the window.

He missed the deep, accentuated staccato of his father's voice when he would read him his bedtime story. His mother did a fine job in reading to him too, but she could not keep up with his father. He missed his father's large hands when he would lift him up to sit on his wide, strong shoulders. He missed his strange laugh, he missed how his eau de cologne would fill the entire bathroom after he had gotten out of it in the morning. He missed how his father would put away Connor's coat and shoes orderly with a frown after Connor had just left his clothes lying scattered on the floor only to then smirk about his own behavior as if struck by a sudden epiphany each time he would do it. It was just four weeks, but already Connor had started to miss the little things. He was very much daddy's little monster.

The look on his mother's face was just a little unsettling. The way she dropped her arms to her sides only to then nervously shove a lock of hair that had come loose from her braid back behind her ear, the way she licked her lips only to bite down on her bottom lip as if she was suppressing the urge to say something that she might later on regret. »Of course« she said. »You are right, he will come home soon, I guess.«

Connor furrowed his brows at his mother's words. She sounded unsure and he, for once, did not quite know if he wanted to ask her further questions. He did not quite know if he wanted to hear her honest opinion of that matter just yet. However, still standing close to his father's desk where he would often find his dad sitting hunched over some old manuscripts or book, the words just escaped him without his permission. »You don’t think he will come home.« It was not a question and for a single second Connor felt the satisfaction of having surprised his mother with his tone and his statement as she raised her eyebrows in shock, but before she could answer to him, he continued quickly. »But you are wrong, Ista. Raké:ni will come back home soon! He would never leave us!« He would never leave _him_.

»I'm not saying that he is leaving us, Ratonhnhaké:ton.« His mother replied gently, but Connor could see how much effort it did cost her to stay calm and composed. His mother was sometimes very much like a bomb that would just explode. Then again, all of them, their entire family, were just like that. This bad temper seemed to be the Kenway-curse and even though his mother was not a born Kenway, the curse had apparently spread out on her too.

»But you always fight and you think that I won't notice.« Connor frowned as he put his hands on his hips, mirroring what his mother had done before.

»Adults sometimes fight, Pumpkin. I heard that you had a fight with Kanen'tó:kon today too, it's exactly the same.« He grew quiet for a moment and finally took his hands from his hips only to cross his arms defiantly.

»It's not the same.« He murmured, knowing that the tables had turned again and that now his mother had the upper hand again. And just as well as he knew this, his mother knew this too.

»What did you fight about anyway?« The inquisitive look came back to his mother's face and so did the hands on her hips. Connor could feel that her short moment of bewilderment and uncertainty had vanished. She was back on track again, back to her domain. He wanted to mope and refuse to answer, but he knew that he would have no chance against his mother. With his father it was a lot easier, he would just need to pout or throw his best puppy eyes at him and he would give in. His mother was much tougher on him.

»He was mean to me.« He stated defiantly, but this was not enough to sway his mother of course. She did not say anything, just cocked her left brow, the universal sign that she wanted him to continue. His mother had a natural talent of making him feel scolded even when she was not actually scolding him. »He said that his mother has said it would be better if Daddy would stay away and not come back. He said that all the others think that Dad does not belong here.«

Of course, his mother did not reply right away. She took a moment – a moment Connor used to threw a glance outside to watch how even more dark clouds had gathered over the forest – before she spoke up again. »That’s not nice.« She stated and Connor felt his chest puff a bit. He always felt a little proud when his parents would agree with him on something. It was obvious to him though that the previous uncertainty started to come back to his mother and he did not like it. »Ratonhnhaké:ton, honey« She began and moved closer towards him, only to then turn her back to the window and lean against his father's desk as if she needed to brace herself for something or needed to hold onto something while the grabbed the edge of the desk with both her hands to either side of her hips. »if your father would not come back home, what would you think?«

He did not know what to say or even think about that question. Why was his mother even asking this? She was not supposed to ask him a question like this! She was supposed to ensure him that his father would come back home to them – to him – again, wasn’t she? »What do you mean?« He growled and stepped back from his mother as he noticed how she wanted to reach out for him again, clearly understanding that she had upset her little son. »Raké:ni is coming home and you are mean!«

»No, Ratonhnhaké:ton, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-«

»No!« He interrupted his mother a lot sharper than before, although he could already feel the burning sensation behind his eyes. He did not like to fight with his parents. He did not like to fight at all. »No, all you do is fight with him! You _want_ him to go away!«

»No, Pumpkin, I-«

»And I will go with him when he leaves! If Daddy does not belong here, _I_ don’t belong here!« This time he did not wait for a response because there was nothing his mother could say that would not make him even more angry. Instead, he threw himself around and ran out of the room, hurried down the hallway towards the back door and barged out into the backyard.

※※※※※※※

The setbacks were devastating. Haytham had not been surprised that even the fifth trial so utterly failed. He blamed Vidic, of course, even though he was aware that he probably should only blame himself or rather this futuristic, strange machine that seemed to come straight out of a science fiction novel or the wet dream of some mad scientist.

As the plug was being pulled, so to speak, he shortly hissed in pain as the needles were pulled out of his arm by one of Vidic's assistance, a shy black haired girl with a strong French accent whenever she would speak. He would never get used to it and, frankly, he did not have to anyway. »Okay, let's have a little break and after that we try this again.« Even Warren started to sound hopeless – or was he annoyed? Well, he probably was, not that this would concern Haytham in any way. Doctor Warren Vidic had always been the type of stereotypical scientist who was a) not very fond of other human beings in the slightest and b) could not bring himself to put up with said human beings' health concern, be it mentally or physically, during his experiments or hypothetically dangerous projects.

»No« Haytham replied as he swung his legs over the edge of the chair to sit up straight again. The chair was comfortable, with the way it was designed to lie on and yet he was glad that he was able to stand up from it again. »It's enough, Warren. As you saw I am not qualified to go through this tedious little process of yours. I am sorry to say it, but you have to mark Subject Eight to be a failure because I am not willing to proceed this any further. We tried five times and every time was a total failure. I do not believe that Dr. Rikkin would be pleased to hear that your little experiments finally succeeded to kill one of your test subjects on the spot because that’s about to happen if we continue this.«

Maybe he was over exaggerating the situation, of course, he would admit to sometimes doing this, but as long as it served a purpose he was fine with over exaggerating things. Even more so when the concern was for his mental stability and his brain being fried by the machine. They had been trying for a week now. Every day for the last five days they had tried to get him to synch with one of his ancestors. Every time it had been a complete disaster and the headaches he had gotten from it had forced Haytham to go to sleep right after the procedure every time only to sleep and rest until the next day. This could not be healthy. Maybe that was even why Vidic was so utterly obsessed with this project of his. He had not known Warren before he had volunteered to be Subject Two as the Animus Project had still been in its earlier stages, but surely the experience had taken its toll on the young doctor.

»There really is no need to cancel the experiment now, Haytham. We were close to making progress I can feel it.« Warren insisted as he put down his notebook on his large metal desk in which he was always idle to take notes of the various things he would see on the monitors. Curves and numbers. Haytham felt a chill running down his spine.

»No, we are done here, Warren.« He replied and this time a little more firm than before as he got up and had a small look around the laboratory. Of course, Warren would have loved to have a bigger one, but since his project was still in its infancy, he needed to make do with what he got from Abstergo. The laboratory was underground, but if he would succeed it was clear, that Warren would get his very own facility, probably somewhere in Europe. He was not long a member of the American Templar Order after he had migrated over from Britain a few years ago before he had met Ziio, and some still saw him as the odd on out, the alien from another planet, but Haytham knew about his worth for the Order and that would always trump the motives of Abstergo. Abstergo needed to answer to the Council of the Templar Order, just as Haytham did and not the other way around. He was not an employee of Abstergo. He was a Templar and that was it.

»Maybe you should take another orphan.« He mocked Warren as the young assistant gave him back his coat, glancing at Haytham shyly with her brown eyes only to cast them down on the ground again. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to have a drink with Charles or Shay and go to bed early. He wanted to go back home. He wanted to have coffee with Ziio or hot cocoa in front of the fireplace with Connor. He missed home and he was sure that this sentiment only added to the reasons of why he failed to synch with his ancestor in the Animus. He just could not focus on someone in the past who was long dead anyway, when he had someone waiting for him at home eager to tell him about their day. »It seems to work better with children.«

He threw one last long glance at Warren to make sure that the doctor understood the weight of his words and the detest that Haytham felt for those practices. He knew about Daniel Cross of course. Everyone knew. He had been but a child and now he was practically a lunatic, driven insane by the memories of his ancestors, sometimes not getting straight who he was anymore. Haytham was aware that Abstergo was searching actively for other kids like Daniel, children of Assassin heritage which they could use for the hunt for the artifacts. This was only one reason more for Haytham to keep his own boy a secret. And if he had not liked the Animus Project before, now he definitely did.

Vidic's pale face was for once unreadable to Haytham, which only rarely ever happened and so he paused near the door of the small white laboratory and just took a moment to stare at the man. Warren looked all the bit like the crazy scientist he was with his short blonde hair all messed up and his glasses crooked on his nose. His white coat had a few coffee stains on it because he would rather drink gallons of coffee instead of taking the time to have something to eat, which was why he was so thin probably. Warren was a titbit shorter than Haytham was, but his ego made up for the missing few inches. His light blue eyes were like those of a dead fish as they stared at Haytham across the room. A part of him wanted to stay and talk to him, but about what he could not tell. There was no reason to talk. The antipathy for one another was mutual. And so, after this short moment of hesitation, Haytham turned around and left.

It was much later than he had planned, as he finally sat down for dinner with his friend Charles. He had planned on taking the first opportunity to drive back home, as soon as he had gotten out of the Abstergo facility in Boston, but he had been unsuccessful. Endless streams of people had demanded his attention as they had come up to Haytham with all their little ideas and plans for the near future. The only good things he had heard had come from William Johnson and his comrade Thomas Hickey. They had found traces to the artifacts they were searching for and Haytham was now all the more eager to follow those traces and find the artifacts before Warren would have a chance if only to prove that his approach was still very much effective in hunting down the artifacts.

The atmosphere in the restaurant they had chosen was pleasant as always and it was certainly not the first time that he and Charles would meet in the famous Green Dragon tavern at Marshall Street. In fact, this was their meeting place of choice ever since Haytham had first come to the States and thus to Boston years ago. Here he could at least try to relax just enough so far away from home, thanks to the certain sense of familiarity that came with the smell of the familiar foods and the noise from all around him.

»Are you sure you don’t want to give it another try, Hayth?« Charles finally asked what had been on his tongue for the entirety of the last hour since they had gotten here, as he sat down on the opposite end of the small table in the corner again and straightened his black suit jacket. It had only been a matter of time until Charles wouldn’t have been able to hold back this question and Haytham had known this, so he did not even bother to sigh in annoyance. Instead, he grabbed for his pint again and took a sip, casually taking in his friend's attire. Charles was as tall as he was and his ego was sometimes a little too big for his own good. Maybe he felt as though he needed to compensate his slowly thinning black hair that was starting to withdraw from his forehead with the amounts of very expensive suits he was wearing and buying.

Haytham was not much of a drinker actually, mainly because he would not do so at home. Ziio would sometimes ask him to go have drinks at the Miles' End in the village, but Haytham would much rather stay at home, far away from those judging and distrustful looks he would get and in the end, his wife would come home only to find him asleep with Connor on the sofa in front of the running TV. Sometimes Haytham was almost afraid that he might be a little too boring for a woman such as Ziio, but he enjoyed those quiet moments more than he would enjoy a pint in a pub.

»I am, actually.« He replied after he had swallowed his beer. »I want to go home. I wasted more than enough time and thanks to William and Thomas I have something to occupy myself with again when I am home with my books. I am certain that I can manage to find the artifacts now with their help.«

»But that is not the true reason why you want to go back to Rockport, is it?« Charles' blue eyes were like those of a cat that was lurking for its prey, waiting for a sign of weakness, but Haytham shrugged it off as he leaned back in his seat just enough to have his eyes wander over the people surrounding them. He was always cautious of those who might hear him talk.

»Of course not and you know that.« He had never said a thing to Ziio, but of course, Charles, his best friend and most trusted companion, was the only one who knew about his family. Had he known Shay longer, maybe he would know too, but since he had already told Charles, there was no way of extending the circle of those involved in his personal affairs. It would not be safe. He could have hidden it from Charles too, of course, but he had had this pressing feeling of wanting to let someone in on his secret back in the day if only to make sure that his son would be safe if something would happen to him or Ziio. There were documents in his safe waiting for this occasion of which only Charles knew. They were living dangerous lives and since that was the case, Haytham had been quick to take preparations just in case. Even from beyond the grave he would make sure that Connor was alright as best he could. That he had sworn to himself the moment Ziio had told him about her pregnancy. This had also been the moment when it had become unmistakably and horrifyingly clear to the both of them what they had done. »I told him two weeks and now I'm gone for four already. I have to go home tomorrow.« But before that, he would need to go shopping so that it would be easier to tone down the wrath of the little wolf and his mother bear.

There was a long moment of silence between him and Charles as they just looked at each other across the table. Haytham could see that there was something else that Charles wanted – needed – to say and so, finally, Haytham let out a small sigh and waved his hand. »Go on then, I can see that there is something else you have on your mind. Be out with it.«

It almost seemed that Charles wanted to brace himself for the things he had to say, but of course, Haytham knew better than this. His friend never really braced himself before saying anything because he was always sure that what he had to say was the one thing everyone needed and wanted to hear indeed. Needless to say, that this was rarely ever the case. »Maybe it would be better if you would not go home at all.«

**\- End of Chapter 3 -**


	4. Chapter 4

**June 1998, Rockport Massachusetts**

Connor was oddly fascinated as he watched the flag dancing in the wind high above his head on the flagpole near the old church. From his position, sitting on the bridge and letting his feet dangle down over the water, he could see the flag just fine even in the upcoming darkness. The sun had not yet been swallowed by the sea fully, but it was just a matter of time for sure now. As he shortly glanced at his Mickey Mouse watch that was attached to his left wrist, he saw that it was almost eight o’clock. He should be home now. He should be lying in his bed. It was not that he was not tired. He was. But he did not dare to go home too. He had yelled at his mother and he had said mean things to her. He was not supposed to say mean things to his mother.

And yet, her words stuck with him.

He loved his parents dearly and although he had told his mother that he would leave her to go with his father if necessary, the decision was not that easy. How should any child decide something like that? How should any child choose between their parents? He wondered how other families dealt with a situation like this. Divorce was something he knew existed through TV but not in real life. Of course, some of his friends only had a mother or a father, but he had never questioned why. The missing parent simply was not there, that was the end of the story.

In a TV show, he had seen how a boy had run away from home to get his parents to stop fighting because he had thought the worry for him would bring them back together. He had succeeded and maybe that was something Connor could try too, he thought. But where should he run off to? He knew nothing but the village. Of course, he had left the village once with his mother, but only to visit Concord to go shopping for clothes. He had not even been as far away from home as Lexington. His mother had once told him that her tribe originally lived nearby in a valley close to a large lake, but she had never shown him the place. She would show him when he was older, she had promised, although she had later added, there was nothing now, only the remains of a few of their longhouses preserved for tourists to look at.

Connor was still deeply lost in thought, as a noise coming from his right-hand side caught his attention. First, the noise was far away and so silent he had almost not picked up on it due to the loud gurgling of the river underneath his dangling feet that was flowing down the stream towards a small waterfall. There was a small _thump-thump_ accompanied by the sound of silent, yet lumbering footsteps that were moving closer. He knew that sound pattern and so he did not need to turn his head to look over his shoulder to see who it was. He did it anyway.

Achilles' hunched over figure was unmistakable as he slowly walked over the wooden bridge towards Connor. He had, of course, already seen the young boy sitting there and so his dark brown eyes rested upon Connor already as he walked up closer with his metal walking stick producing the silent _thump-thump_ continuously. Connor wondered if the old man was on his way home from the pub or if he had just visited some of their neighbors. He lived a little off in his mansion on the hill, but still, despite his bad leg, Achilles was always somewhere around the village and the people would go to him if there was a decision to be made. Connor had once asked his mother if that was because Achilles was the mayor of their village, but she had just laughed and told him that it was something like that.

»Young Mr. Kenway.« Achilles’ voice was still full and rich for his old age. Connor did not know exactly how old the old man was, but surely, he thought, he must be around one hundred years by now. »What are you doing out here so late?«

There was no accusation in his voice, only cheerful curiosity. Most people called Achilles _the old man on the hill_ , some people even addressed him simply as _old man_ , but instead of taking it as an insult, Achilles always seemed to take it as the term of endearment it was meant to be. However, sometimes Connor heard the adults of the village calling Achilles _Mentor_ , when they would speak to him and that Connor did not understand yet. He had asked his mother once and she had told him that a mentor was a teacher of sorts, however, Achilles did not teach in the school. If he was honest, Connor did not have the slightest idea what Achilles actually did all the time. He was simply there, the old man on the hill, the ever constant presence that was watching over the village and its inhabitants like a father figure.

He did not know what to say, as the old man bridged the distance between them. He did not sit down next to Connor, probably because he would have a hard time getting up afterward. So, instead of talking, Connor put on a frown and turned his attention back to the river again. Achilles did not take it as an insult, however.

»Connor« He addressed him again as everyone in the village did. Hardly anyone called him by his other name because no one was able to pronounce it right, not even his own father, but Connor did not mind. He liked both his names. »Do you know what the flag of our village means?« The question came out of the blue and made Connor look up at Achilles in surprise. Then again, he thought, Achilles had probably noticed how he had stared up at the flagpole.

He did not like to admit whenever he had no clue about something. He was like his father in that regard. His father would always pretend to know something and in reality, he would then, later on, do his research. But, sadly, he had never thought about the flag at all. The flag was attached to the flagpole near the old church that was now their school, for centuries. The age was showing on the fabrics even though it had probably been replaced from time to time during the last few hundred years. The flag was consistent of three parts. The left part, where the flag was attached to the flagpole, was covered in a large green rectangle with a circle formed by little yellow stars right in the center. The rest of the flag was split horizontally. The upper half was white, the lower half blue.

»No.« Connor replied after a long drawn out moment of hesitation in which he had refused to admit to his ignorance. Achilles, however, did not seem to take his lack of knowledge as an insult to their community, as he stepped closer to the railing of the bridge and leaned his forearms down on the wood. Connor could already hear the first rumble of thunder in the distance. It would not be long until it would start to rain and soon after that, the thunder would arrive at the homestead. Connor was not exactly afraid of thunderstorms. They were a given out here, especially so close to the sea, but he sometimes liked to act as though he was scared so that he could sneak into his parents’ bedroom and sleep in their bed.

»This flag is a symbol of our strength and unity as a community. It was first made roughly two hundred years ago by one of the first settlers of this land after a long period in which no one except the former master of the manor lived here, and it flew high and proud over every shop and home of this homestead ever since in honor of the man who built up this community from scratch, with whom you, as you might now, even share a name.« Achilles had this very comfortable and calm way of telling stories or explaining things that made it easy to listen to him with curiosity and interest. Still, Connor stayed silent for a moment longer because he did not know what to say now. Maybe there was nothing to say anyway.

»So, how about you go home now, Connor? I'm sure your mother is already worried out of your mind.«

»Ista is never worried.«

»Of course she is, she just does not like to show her worries for her stubborn son.« Achilles laughed. »Believe me when I tell you that she does worry a great deal about you. I know your mother for a long time now and even though she does not show it, I mostly know what's going on inside her mind.« Connor wanted to ask Achilles about his father. He wanted to ask him if he too hated his father and wanted him gone like all the others did. He wanted to ask him why all the others despised his father's as they did. He even opened his mouth to ask, but then, instead, he shut it and shrugged his shoulders. »So, be off now, there is a storm coming. I could bring you back home too if you want me to.«

Those were the magic words that made Connor jump up again from the spot where he had been sitting. He did not want to be escorted home like a little criminal, or worse, a _baby_. »No! I go alone!« Connor immediately replied and started running off towards his home without even looking back a second time.

※※※※※※※

It did not feel like it was his own decision and yet it was. Haytham knew that it had been his decision alone to follow Charles’ advice and not travel back home first thing in the morning. And yet, ever since he had first got up in the morning in some hotel room that Abstergo was paying for him to stay at whenever he was in Boston, he could hardly think about anything but his family back in Rockport. As he was brushing his teeth he wondered what adventures his little boy might have gone on in the last four weeks. As he was showering, he wondered what Ziio might be wearing and if she would take Connor with her into the forest today to hunt. He even wondered, while he was trying to get as much of his breakfast down as he could, what Ziio might have told his little wolf about his absence. Connor was anything but dumb, as he not so humbly liked to notice, and surely his boy had already asked her why his father had not come home by now as he had promised to do.

Haytham would never claim to be the most honorable person in the world or even a good person, but he had never broken a promise that he had made to Connor.

He felt bad that he was still in Boston as the day had progressed. He had felt bad for the last two weeks and he would continue to feel bad. And during everything he needed to do on this day, his mind was constantly occupied with this feeling of guilt. He himself knew well enough what it felt like to suddenly have lost a father. For years he had thought his father to be dead, just like his sister, but he, cowardly, had just decided not to go home again.

As he had learned the truth about that awful night of his eight birthday all those years ago, when he had learned that his family was not dead and had first seen them again after so long a time, he had been overcome with joy and though this joy had later been accompanied by the feeling of discrepancy and being the odd one out, the joy had never vanished. He and his father had been granted a second chance and that was more valuable and important than any conflict between their groups. He had learned the truth about his father early on doing his years of training alongside Reginald Birch. He had known for a good amount of years that his family members were Assassins and yet he had decided to become their enemy, at least officially. However, no matter how much they would sometimes differ in their opinions about the world and the human nature, Haytham knew at least, that he would always be able to go to his father for advice. Between them, there were no hard feelings.

But what if Connor would someday find him. What if he, a grown man by that time, would find his old father and learn that he was still alive but just left him and his mother? And for what reason? Because they were enemies? Well, he had known that from the start, had noticed this at the latest as he had felt the muzzle of Ziio's gun being pressed against his temple. No, this was not the reason, was it? Was it because he did not want to have his son need to choose between their groups? Also, he did not think that this was his reason, for he knew that if they would just give their boy time enough to think and teach him their separate ways in the meantime, he would have been able to make that decision with a clear conscience. Or was it just that he himself did not want to make a decision? That he did not want to choose between the Order and his family while his decision to stay here in Boston ultimately crossed out the other option of being with his family? He was worried for his family. That was the truth. He knew that not every single one of his brothers in arms had only good and noble intentions. And at least people like Warren Vidic did not shy away from hurting innocent children. They had seen it in the past.

Sadly, sometimes it seemed to Haytham as though the Templar Order would gather quite a lot of individuals such as Warren Vidic. Maybe that was the only real difference between their groups. The Templars tried to fulfill their goals _no matter what_ , the Assassins, however, did not. They drew a line at a certain point and they would not cross it. But did that make them better in any way? They were killers, while they, the Templars, tried to refrain from killing, though it was not always possible.

And if he would just leave the Order to join the Assassins instead and profit from the protection of the Brotherhood while he would always be the odd one out anyway, his former comrades would then do anything to get back on him. They would do it _no matter what_.

He had tried to convince Ziio to change sides as soon as they had discovered her pregnancy, but all his attempts had been as failed as hers to get him to change sides and so they had decided they would risk it, risk everything. And yet, had he ever really wanted for Ziio to change sides and join the Order? Perhaps not. Perhaps he had even thought that Ziio would have been tainted by the Order because that was exactly how he felt about it. He had been a young man full of ideals and principles one day, but that young man seemed to have died a long time ago.

Maybe there even was a part of him, buried deep inside, that did regret his decision of joining the Templars, but that was a thought he would never dare to vocalize.

»I do not think that this is a good idea.« Shay's brows were furrowed as he stared at Haytham over the rim of his cup of coffee and pulled him back to reality at the same time. Startled, Haytham realized, that he had forgotten what they had been talking about. He wanted to form a reply, but since he had been so lost in his thoughts, he could not think of a clever way to not show his oscitancy. »Is everything alright?« And of course, Shay would not be Shay if he would not pick up on his friend’s situation instantly.

»Yes, yes of course it is.« Haytham was quick to shrug off his friend’s concern as he grabbed his own cup of coffee again to have a sip. Despite the late hour, he and Shay had met at some mediocre coffee shop. Haytham wasn’t the biggest fan of coffee, especially not in the evening hours, but he felt as though he would not be able to sleep anyway tonight and Shay almost had an unhealthy addiction towards this black liquid. The coffee was way too overpriced and the brands had a lot of funny names to draw in the young customers. He could see mostly young folks sitting hunched over their books and large laptop computers at the small tables, occasionally taking a sip. University students, probably.

He could feel Shay's inquisitive eyes upon him while he was looking around still, watching the young people hammering away on their keyboards. In comparison to the technology that Abstergo possessed those things looked ancient even though they were probably the latest thing that was available on the market to a decent enough price. »Good, good.« Shay said and drew his attention back to his face that way. »Because I wanted to talk to you about something else. That's why I asked that we would meet here and not at Abstergo.«

»Oh?« Haytham said and was honestly surprised because Shay was usually not the type of person who had many secrets that he would not like to discuss where they could be overheard by other members of the Order and to Haytham it was clear that this was something he did not want anyone to hear except Haytham. Public places like this, with barista yelling names and orders all the time, the loud hissing of the coffee machines when steam would erupt from them as from a volcano, the loud typing, and the various conversations all around, was the perfect place to discuss secrets. »And what is that?« A part of him even was glad, that Shay would not continue with whatever they had talked about beforehand.

Shay seemed to need a moment to brace himself as if he was rethinking if he should tell Haytham at all what was on his mind. Now he had Haytham concerned for sure. »It's about what Charles has told you yesterday.« It then erupted from Shay though he was mindful to keep his voice lowered to a minimal. »I do not think you should stay away from your family.«

※※※※※※※

Connor had run off immediately down the bridge and down the path that was leading back to his home. He needed to run pass the farm and usually, he would roam through the cornfields on his way back. Sometimes he and his friends would even play hide and seek in the fields. Of course, the owners of the farm were not all too happy to have children trample their crops all the time, so they were careful not to get caught whenever they would play at the farm. This night, however, Connor did not cross the farm. He decided that he would much rather take the little path between a row of trees that would lead to a small gurgling stream. It was not the direct way back to the house, of course, but he liked it better. Although the night started to creep in on him, Connor did not feel afraid. In his eyes, darkness was nothing to be afraid of anyway.

As he made his way to the stream he stopped, startled in his tracks. All of the sudden, he felt as though something was not right but he could not grasp the feeling either. He looked around, but only saw what he had expected to see: the other houses in the distance, lights streaming out of the windows, the old church, almost hidden behind a large tree in his line of sight with the flag violently thrashing in the upcoming strong wind from the sea, and the house on the hill that was now staring at him with dark and vacant eyes.

He felt a chill running down his spine, despite all of this being so familiar to him. He did not feel scared either. He just felt … uneasy. Instead of throwing rocks at the stream as he would usually do whenever he wanted to loiter, he did not but hurried down the hidden path between wildflowers and tall grasses, back to his home.

※※※※※※※

Haytham had done, seen and experienced many dangerous things in his life and yet nothing had him startled as the words that had left Shay Cormac's mouth. Suddenly he felt like he had been doused in ice water without warning, although a warning would not have made it any better probably. He was unable to process the new information for just a moment. A moment, in which he surely just stared at his friend and comrade blankly. They knew each other for the better part of three years now. Not long enough to trust one another blindly, not short enough to discredit what they shared as a fleeting acquaintanceship. Shay was his friend. He was a _good friend_. He was one of his most trusted friends and yet he had decided not to tell him about his family. It was more than enough to have one person to be an accomplice in his betrayal of the Order. Even Charles, no matter how much he did trust him, could betray him at any second. But that was the risk of trusting anyone with anything, he had guessed as he had decided to tell him.

As he grew aware of his staring and how long the moment had been dragged out now, he cleared his throat, trying to form a coherent answer, but he could not think of one and that too almost made him freeze in horror. This was not at all like him and yet he could not think about anything but about the fact that he wished he had a way of getting into contact with Ziio right now. »I'm afraid, I do not understand what you are referring to, Shay.«

He leaned back in his chair as he said this and tried to look as if Shay's words did not have the biggest impact on his life at the moment, or rather, that he did not just start to really fear for the safety of his family. Sadly, Shay knew him too well to fall for this. It was either that or Haytham was really not the best actor in the world.

»Haytham« He replied and he sounded awfully like Ziio when he would try to fool her. He was missing Ziio's frown, though. »spare me. I know about your family and as I said, I think you should not listen to Charles when he tells you to leave them behind.«

»How do you…?«

»Did you forget who I am? I literally get paid to snoop around other people's’ lives and find out things that no one else is able to find out. That's why you wanted me in your team, right? I understand that you fear for their safety and yes, it will endanger them if you stay. But they will always be in much greater danger if you are not there. And the decision you are afraid to make is not between Assassins and Templars, but between family and loyalty to the Order. But we both know that in the end, you would always choose your family.«

For once, there was nothing too playful in Shay's attitude towards him as he spoke. No, he was deadly serious in his words and opinions. The realization only slowly started to sink into his brain that, yes, Shay knew about his family. And, really, it was as he said: he should not even be surprised that Shay had managed to find out. Shay was one of their best spies. If he would not know any better, sometimes he would almost think that Shay was an Assassin himself, but the determination which with he went to work against the Assassins, made it unmistakably clear that he was devoted to the Templars entirely, even though he not always agreed with their doctrine wholeheartedly. But that was something Haytham could respect, for it reminded him of his own father, a skeptic himself in the beginning of his journey.

His father had always taught him to question the things he was told, to question the Templars, to question the Assassins, to question himself and he had taken this advice to heart. Maybe that was why he had fallen for Ziio even. Because of his father's teachings, he had been able to see not only the enemy in her, but understand her way of thinking and realize that they were not so different after all. In the beginning, when they had met in secret, they had spent hours discussing and talking about their beliefs, sometimes arguing to the point where he had been certain Ziio would kill him in his sleep. She never did, although she had had the chance numerous amounts of times. His trust had paid off and he had been proven right in his belief that Templars and Assassins were very well capable of forming an alliance. Together they would be unstoppable.

A part of him wanted to start arguing with Shay, wanted to tell him that what he thought was true was absolute nonsense, but the better part of his brain decided that this would only be a waste of time if nothing else. Shay knew. This was a fact with which he could not argue no matter what. This was a fact that would not go away, no matter what. Shay knew and it did not seem as though he would find offense in Haytham’s decision of having a family with an Assassin. »You see me speechless.« Haytham finally admitted as he raised his cup in a silent toast at his friend as if he wanted to congratulate him on that achievement.

»Which does not happen all too often. I feel honored that I managed to achieve something so great.« Shay replied, mockingly this time. »But I stand behind my word, Haytham. You should not listen to Lee in this regard. We all long for a family, but in our world, family and love are fleeting things, gone quicker than a breath of air on a stormy sea. You should hold onto that as long as you are able to.«

»It will end in tragedy if I do.«

»Of course it will, but I guess that you knew this from the start. I do not know you as long as Charles, sure, but I always got the feeling that you are a man who likes adventure and danger quite a bit.«

»I guess, I got that from my own father.« Haytham found himself chuckle. Talking with Shay had always felt a lot different than talking to Charles, no matter the topic. Charles pretty much looked up to him and Haytham was aware of that. Shay too had seemed to admire him in the early beginning, but they had quickly understood that they were at eye level and that their respect for each other and each other's abilities were mutual, while Charles still lowered himself just enough to not be considered a threat. Haytham had never really talked about his family to Charles, not because he felt he could not trust him, but because it always seemed to be a topic that made Charles uncomfortable in some way. With Shay, it felt almost easy. »Connor takes after my father in that regard too, I would assume. He is quite the whirlwind, you would like him.« Haytham then cautiously continued.

»Maybe I get the chance to get to know him one day.«

※※※※※※※

As Connor woke up, he did not quite know what had shaken him awake at first. It was just an odd feeling that suddenly grabbed him and made him open his eyes. Almost he had expected to find his father by his side as he pried open his eyes, but only darkness greeted him before a lightning bolt came crashing down right in front of his window and flooded his room with a bright white light for a second. A second in which his toys that were strewn and scattered all over the place cast long creepy shadows on the walls and the floorboards. All of the sudden, as Connor sat up in his bed, he felt the urge to grab his plush wolf harder and pull the blanket higher as an eerie feeling crept down his spine. Loud thunder was rolling in the distance and a strong wind was ripping on the trees outside. But there was something else out there too. He could almost hear it.

Right as he had gathered the courage to get out of his bed to investigate, his door swung open with a bang and his mother stormed in without even switching on the light. Connor jumped out of his bed in an instant before she could even bridge the distance between the door and his bed.

»Ratonhnhaké:ton!« His mother's voice was more of a hiss, a whisper, but lost nothing of its urgency. In that moment, Connor grew aware that something was truly wrong, even though he could still not pinpoint it. His eyes ghosted to his little alarm clock by the side of his bed quicker than his heart needed to make a beat. It was ten minutes after midnight. »Ratonhnhaké:ton, you need to listen to me now-«

»What's wrong, Ista?« He interrupted her, his voice even to his own ears a lot more panicked than he would like to admit. Still, as his mother reached him, he found himself immediately grabbing for her shirt to hold onto her. She was not wearing her nightgown, but that thought needed a lot longer for him to process than it usually would. His mother was wearing a pair of black tight pants, boots with a thick sole, and a gray zipped up jacket with a hood. He was certain that he had never seen her in those clothes before.

»There is no time to explain, Pumpkin. Just listen closely.« She crouched down just enough to be at eye level with him as she spoke. In the darkness, he could hardly make out her features, but still, he felt as though her stare was piercing. The only source of light he had was his little night light that shone in the corner next to his door. »You need to hide, okay, Sweetie?«

»Why? Mommy…«

»It's a game.« His mother cut him off abruptly, but in the faint light of his night light, he could see that she was smiling, although the smile did not reach her eyes as it usually did. And as if she could sense the growing fear in his stomach, she reached around her neck and quickly took off the necklace she was always wearing. Connor felt as though the ground underneath him was shaking as she closed her thin silver necklace around his neck in the very same gesture his father had done before. Was she going away? His fear mixed with confusion as his mother grabbed his hands. »It's just a game, okay? You hide, somewhere no one can find you and later, I will come to get you, okay? I know you like to play hide and seek.«

»I don't like this.« Connor immediately replied. He was shaking, but his mother threw a look over her left shoulder as if she had heard something.

»It's an adventure, Honey. I know you like adventures. You see it will be exciting. I know that you are good in this game. The other children are all playing it right now and you want to be the winner, don't you?«

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he did not care about some stupid game in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, but there was something in his mother's voice that forced him to nod. She smiled again as another bolt of lightning was painting his room in bright daylight before she leaned down and kissed his forehead. Then her hands left his and she gently pushed him towards his window. A childish thought crept through Connor's head immediately. Did she know that he used the window to sneak out when he shouldn't? He stood in a moment of confusion and surprise as his mother turned her back to him and walked towards the door again. Before she left his room, she paused in the doorframe and looked at him one last time, before another word left her mouth almost too silently to be heard. »Konnorónhkwa« She said with a smile, then she left and Connor felt oddly as though this might be the last time he would see her.

The thought was so horrifying, that he wanted to follow her, but instead, he grabbed his plush wolf which he had left on his bed and climbed onto his desk, which stood underneath his window.

Pushing open his window was not easy, but he had done so before and he succeeded. Still, he hesitated for a moment, as he started to climb out the window and onto the roof of the back porch. He was barefoot, but somehow it seemed to him that he should not go to look for his shoes and rain jacket. He did not feel right, as he set his naked feet on the small roof and neither as he slowly slid down the rain drain to land silently on the rainwater barrel. By now he was already soaked. Usually, his mother was quite strict when it came to him leaving the house when it was raining. That she did not seem to care now, only fueled his fear.

The tree line was close to their home and he wondered if he should hide somewhere in the woods. But then he decided against it. He had been warned that it was dangerous to be in the woods during a thunderstorm. His father had warned him more than once. But his father was not here with him now. He could only feel the cold silver of the cross his father used to wear press against his skin, right underneath his collarbone, now accompanied by the necklace his mother wore with the strangely formed A-symbol attached to it. He was still trying to figure out where to go, as a loud bang spurred him into motion all at once. His first thought was that it had to be a gunshot, but then he understood that it was the front door of their house that had burst open. _Maybe the storm had pushed it open._

Whatever it was, suddenly Connor could feel the danger lingering in the cold air and he started to run between the trees. In the darkness, he could hardly see a thing, but as he looked back to the house he started to notice flashes of light from within as though people were wandering the rooms with flashlights. His heart was pounding as he started to run. He did not dive into the forest but ran through the trees parallel to the road.

The wind was carrying voices and all kinds of unusual, creepy sounds to his ears that he had never heard before. He wondered if Kanen'tó:kon was out here too, hiding somewhere. If he was, then Connor knew exactly where his friend would be hiding, but a voice inside his head told him not to go search for him. He should do what his mother had told him. He should hide somewhere where no one would find him until she would come to get him. The thunder and the wind were so loud by now, that he could not even hear his own smacking steps in the mud.

Suddenly, just in the moment when he saw a flash of white between the bushes and trees, something grabbed him by his left wrist and as he whirled around at the impact he almost lost his plush wolf. His friends saw him as someone really brave, but it was certainly not very brave to run around at night clutching a plush wolf like a scared little kid. However, Connor couldn't care less in this moment. He was scared and his plush wolf had always given him comfort. »Ratonhnhaké:ton!« It was Kanen'tó:kon's voice that managed to get his attention and as Connor squinted his eyes to try and make out his friend in the darkness, he found Kanen'tó:kon right in front of him, reaching out of a bush.

»Kanen'tó:kon?« He whispered, as his friend pulled on his arm and Connor followed the motion to quickly crawl into the bush. »What's going on?« He heard the sound of heavy boots stomping through underwood and over gravel, but surely he just imagined all of this because of how tense the situation felt. Rain was dropping down heavily on the leaves of the bush and yet Connor felt how he was holding his breath for a moment while the stomping around him seemed to continue.

»There are strangers« Kanen'tó:kon suddenly replied, but his voice was not louder than a whisper and his words hard to understand through the rain and the growling above their heads. It was the first time, that Connor felt real fear during a thunderstorm, but now he could not hide in his parents' bed, curl up to his dad or have his mother brush soothing fingers through his hair. Instinctively he pressed the wolf closer to his chest. »I don't know what's happening… My mother told me I should find a place to hide and that there are bad men in the village. Come on, we should go to the others. They are hiding in our cave.«

The cave was close by the river, far off the road, but still, Connor did not feel as if it would be a good idea to hide there. It was just some hole in the mountain and did not go deep enough to really hide in there. They sometimes played in the cave and painted the stone walls with chalk, pretending to be Stone Age Men. Yet, he followed Kanen'tó:kon through the underwood as they left the bush behind. Twigs were breaking loudly underneath their feet and leaves were shaking when they brushed through them. Kanen'tó:kon was taller than Connor, but he was not faster than him and so Connor did not have such a hard time keeping up with him although his feet started to hurt from all the little stones and sharp twigs he would step on. As they ran the sounds around started to only grow louder and Connor started to understand that all of this was not a game. Kanen'tó:kon was right. There were bad people in the village. He could hear shouting and loud bangs in the distance. And again, out of the corner of his right eye, he noticed a flash of white somewhere between the trees. »Did you see that?« Connor gasped as he was already out of breath.

»What? It's dark! Come on, hurry!«

»The ghost!« Connor breathed. He did not know what this white thing he had just seen was, but _ghost_ somehow felt right to him in describing it.

»There are no ghosts! Come on! We're almost there!« He was right. Connor could, despite the darkness, already make out the small depression in the mountain side where their play cave was. Neither of them knew how the cave came to be, but they had soon claimed it to be their refuge from the adults. No parents were allowed near the cave. But surely, that would not hold those strangers back. To them it was a magical place, with an unseen barrier around it that did not allow their parents to break through, but surely those strangers would shatter their childish imagination. He did not know where those thoughts came from, only that there was a voice somewhere buried deep inside his mind that was telling him those things, a voice that was warning him of the cave and urging him not to go there and hide with the other children.

They were all there. He could see the pale faces of his friends in the light of another lightning bolt that was shooting through the black sky. Dobby, Duncan, Jamie, Stephane, Clipper, and Jacob. But those were not all of the children of the village. There were a handful of other kids missing! Just as Kanen'tó:kon wanted to pull him into the cave, he saw the white figure again between the trees. It was the same figure he had seen as he had been attacked by that bear, as he now noticed. And this time the figure was so close he could almost see their face. It was a man, without a doubt, big and bulky with a white hood that was painting shadows on his face. »There it is again!« Connor hissed as he pointed towards the figure, but it was gone as fast as it had materialized.

»There are no ghosts! Come on, we need to hide, _now_!« Kanen'tó:kon tried yet again and this time Connor followed him. However, to his surprise, it was Dobby who suddenly jumped to her feet and pointed one finger at Connor almost threateningly as he and Kanen'tó:kon wanted to enter the cave.

»No! He can't hide with us!« She growled. Dobby was only two years older than him and quite short for her age, but she was a feisty girl and whenever they would play fight she would do everything in her power to kick their butts. She was one of the boys. Taken aback by her sudden attack, Connor paused and just stared at her. »My Dad said his dad brought them here!«

»Don't be so stupid, Dobby!« Duncan cut her off as he pulled on her wrist so that she would sit down and allow Connor and Kanen'tó:kon to step inside. Yet, she was unflinching. »Connor's dad did not bring them here!«

»Why not?« Jacob interrupted them with one raised eyebrow. »I mean, he is one of them. My father said it would be only a matter of time and that Connor's mom should have known from the start.«

»My mother said that she would get what she deserves but that it would not be right do drag all of us into this madness too.« This was Clipper speaking. Suddenly Connor felt as if all of his friends were against him. Even Stephane, who usually got his back no matter how hot-headed and easily to anger he was, usually was on his side, but now he only murmured in agreement. »Who else would have told them where to find us?«

»What do you mean? My Dad has done nothing wrong!« He exclaimed and did not care for the danger around them in that moment. He was just angry that his friends would not tell him what they knew. He was angry that everyone in the village seemed to hate his father and would not tell him why. His father was a good man, after all. He would never do something to deserve so much hate directed towards him.

»Are you really that stupid, Connor?« Dobby hissed and put her hands on her hips. »Jeez! He is a _Templar_ , Connor! _Those people_ _are_ _Templars_! And they want to see us all dead! Your father brought them here and it's his fault if we die! We don't want you here!«

He did not even understand what she was trying to get across. _Templars_? He had never heard of something like that and he did not know what it meant. He understood the danger, though. Right as Kanen'tó:kon opened his mouth to probably defend him, there was a sharp whistle echoing through the woods and the other kids scrambled to their feet in a sudden rush of panic. Connor, however, pulled away from them. »Fine! I find someplace else to hide then! You are mean!« He growled and bared his teeth at them as if he himself was a wolf ready to snap and bite them. And, dear god, he wanted to attack. He felt the urge to attack, even though this was entirely new to him. Yes, he was a hotheaded young man, but he usually would not get violent. His parents had told him that it would not be right to hurt his friends or anyone else and so he didn't. Yet, this attack on him and his family so out of the blue from his friends, made him incredibly angry.

»I hope you get caught!« He finally erupted, before he turned and run. He felt bad for having said this straight away, but when he looked back over his shoulder, he could hardly see his friends in the darkness any longer as he ran away from them and straight towards the farmland and the river. He felt not safe in the woods and this was the first time ever that he had this feeling. The storm only grew more violent and his heart was pounding so heavily in his body that the sound was deafening. As he reached the farmland he stopped and paused in horror for the first time since all of this had started.

The world was ablaze.

The farm was on fire. Despite the heavy rain, the farmhouse was burning and the heavy wind only fueled the fire that was devouring the house. Not long and the fire would reach the shed and then the corn field. He could hear screams carried to him by the wind and was not able to tell if they were coming from the farmhouse or from wherever. The realization that his friends had not lied to him started to sink in as he just stood there, frozen in fear. No one came to extinguish the fire and he caught himself thinking that this was because there was no one left to do this. Where were all the adults of their village? Where was his mother? Where were the other parents? The banging sounds he had heard earlier only grew more sharp and distinguished. _Gunshots_. Finally, it dawned on him. They were gunshots.

All of the sudden he felt as if he had stepped into a war zone and all he could do now was running. So he did just that. He started to run.

He ran across the farmland, as quickly as his short legs would carry him even though he was already out of breath. The fear of what would happen to him if he would get caught by who ever it was doing all of this urged him forward, although a part of him just wanted to run back home and see where his mother was. As he reached the end of the farmland, he quickly ducked under the wooden fence and slipped on the wet grass on the other side. Immediately he lost his balance, fell flat on his face and rolled down the small hill on which the farm stood. His body hit little stones and rocks on his way down before he reached the riverbank with a thud and a moan escaping his lips. Well, it would not be the first time that something like that had happened to him and he was surely not one to cry about scratches and bruises, but now … now he felt like crying. He wanted to sit here and bawl his eyes out until his parents would come to find him and tell him that everything was fine.

Instead, he slowly sat up on the wet ground, gathered his wolf into his arms and looked around. A small hiccup escaped him as he saw that the sky above had turned orange from the fire of the farm in his back. Somehow he was sure that this was not the only burning building in the village. In front of him, the river was raging loudly as it flew down towards the waterfall. It was too deep for him to wade through and too dangerous anyway. His father had taught him to swim last summer, but he was not very good yet. He could hardly keep his head over the surface. And yet he thought about how proud his father had been and how much he had cheered him on last year. They had walked down to the beach and his mother had been concerned that the sea might be the wrong place to teach him. Connor had loved it. He had felt safe with his father by his side in the ocean and with the big house watching over them.

Achilles, he thought. Maybe he should run to Achilles. It was safe up there.

Just as he had gathered his thoughts, he saw the white man again on the other side of the river, hidden between two trees and all of the sudden he thought that the figure looked like his father. The thought just hit him. Connor jumped back to his feet and quickly he made out a few rocks he could use to jump over the dangerous water as he would do in bright daylight with his friends. He did not care what the others said about his father. He did not care what his father was or what it was that seemed to be so bad about him. He was here. Connor was sure of that. He was standing right across the river and as Connor started to jump from rock to rock, careful not to slip and fall, he saw how the figure, his father, extended his left hand towards him. He did not speak, though. _Of course not_ , he thought, _we need to be silent!_ _There are bad people all around!_

And so, Connor did not call out to his father but just concentrated on crossing the river and as he did, his father was gone, vanished into thin air. Confused and frustrated, Connor looked around, but couldn't see him anymore. The only thing he could see now was the Davenport Manor in the distance, looming over the village with dark and vacant eyes. Somehow he was sure that he would see his father at the house again and so Connor took off running as if the devil himself was coming after him because that was exactly how he felt as he ran through the woods and straight towards the house. He could see trucks and vans on the narrow main street of their village. Vehicles he had never seen here before, left behind by those strangers that were firing their guns and burning houses.

As he ran up the hill, careful not to be seen, he saw more houses burning down in the village. He wanted to stop and make sure that his home was not one of them, but just as he stopped in his tracks, he was grabbed and hurled up almost violently. The yell that wanted to escape his lips was silenced by a hand on his mouth and then a most familiar voice close to his ear. »Be quiet, son.« Achilles breathed. Connor felt himself relax in relief as he immediately grabbed Achilles leather jacket by the front to get a hold of the man.

Despite his bad knee, the old man was quick and silent on his feet as he now hurried to the front door of his house. »Don't look, Connor.« He suddenly added and as they entered the house, Connor felt something cold running down his spine. He tried not to look, but he failed. There were men lying on Achilles' floorboards as they stepped inside. Achilles even needed to step over one man lying directly in front of the door. It took him long enough to realize that the men were dead. He had never seen dead people before but his heart was racing as Achilles carried him to the back door and sat him down again before he pulled at an old candle holder that was attached to the corner of the small hallway that was located between the kitchen and Achilles’ bedroom. A secret door swung open and no matter how often Connor had played inside the house, he had never seen this door. »Hurry downstairs, Connor. You should be safe down there.«

»What about Mom?« Connor asked immediately as Achilles gently pushed him towards the stairs that were leading downstairs. Connor was not too fond of basements. His friends had told him all kinds of creepy stories about basements. He was not too fond of spiders too and those tended to live in basements. He avoided going into the basement of their house - at least not alone. Whenever his mother would tell him to go pick something up for her from a shelf downstairs, he would grab his father to go with him. Now he wanted to grab Achilles by the hand instead, but he did not. He was not a baby anymore. He needed to do this alone, despite his fear. Even though he was only four years old he could understand how bad the situation really was and how dangerous all of this really was and that this was not the right moment to be a baby.

»I'm sure your mother will come to get you when she can.« Achilles promised with a small smile on his wrinkled face. Suddenly he looked very old to Connor, even though he knew that Achilles was not yet that old. He did not know if he should believe him, though, and yet Connor nodded and slowly descended down the stairs. The secret door swung close behind him and made him pause on the wooden staircase immediately. He could see a small doorknob on his side, so he knew that he would get out by himself and he used that knowledge to calm himself as he took a deep breath and descended the stairs into the darkness of Achilles’ basement.

With his plush wolf pressed tightly against his chest, Connor slowly wandered through the darkness. It was pitch black down in the basement and as he walked forward he suddenly ran straight into something that stood in his path. He stumbled back and landed straight on his bum immediately. As he looked up, he could make out the silhouette of something that almost looked like a person in the darkness. For a moment, he was sure that he had just found the boogie man or something as terrifying as this creature, but as nothing happened and the silence started to creep in, he slowly got back to his feet again. He touched for the figure and found it at an arm's lengths from him. He could feel thick fabric, leather, and metal. Maybe, he thought, it was one of those old dressmaker's dummies. Or it could be a monster. But since the thing did not attack him or growled at him, Connor started to relax and decided to find a spot to hide.

In the end, after stumbling over various crates and boxes on the floor, he decided to just sit down on the ground and hope that his mother would soon come to find him. He could still hear the storm raging and he could still hear gunshots in the distance, mixed with shouts and screams. He wondered if his mother was okay and where his father had vanished to. In the darkness, he clutched his wolf and brushed the fingers of his left hand carefully over the two pendants hanging from the silver necklaces. He did not know what they meant and he did not care at the moment either. He just wanted his parents back home and that this night would soon be over.

Connor did not realize that he had dozed off at one point until he was startled by a sound coming from upstairs. As he rubbed his eyes and slowly got to his feet, he grew aware of just how silent it had grown outside. He could still hear the wind blowing through cracks in the walls and the foundation of the house, but he could not hear the violent drizzling of rain or the thunder roaring in the sky anymore. Even the gunshots had died down and so, slowly, he made his way towards the stairs again. With one hand outstretched in front of him, he navigated through the darkness until he found the stairs. He could hear someone talking up on the main floor of the house. A woman, but the voice was muffled. Connor was nonetheless sure that it was his mother and so he hurried up the stairs and opened the door silently. The moment he poked his head out of the basement he could see the blood on the floorboards. The voices inside the house now grew a little louder, but he could tell that the people they belonged to had to be in the front of the house, maybe inside the dining room or the office. Maybe Achilles had told the others to come here.

Slowly, Connor walked outside the basement and as he stepped into the back hallway he saw him, Achilles. The old man was lying on the floorboards of the front hallway next to the staircase that was leading upstairs. Underneath his body was something red soaking into the floorboards and it took Connor a long minute to figure out that it was blood. Everywhere was blood. He froze and his heart was pounding so violently that it shook his entire body as he stared into the open eyes of the old man. They stared right back at him, dark and lifeless.

»There’s another one! Get him!« A voice suddenly came bellowing from the front door and as Connor looked up he saw a man in a black uniform pointing at him. He started running before he could even think about it. The back door was standing wide open and he did not care about the why or how as he ran out of there and stumbled down the steps into freedom.

» _That's him! Get him! Get him!_ « Another voice shouted, shriller than the first. It was the woman’s voice he had heard earlier but this time Connor did not turn to look who it was, he kept running, although he did not even know where to run to anymore. He thought about the beach and so his feet changed directions. He was about to run down the hill, as something very heavy collided with the back of his skull. Connor did not know what was happening to him as he fell to the ground, only that darkness claimed him almost immediately. The last thing he saw, before his eyes fell shut for good was a pair of black boots appearing in his field of vision. Then something else hit his forehead and the lights went out.

 

**\- End of Chapter 4 -**

 


	5. Chapter 5

When Haytham arrived back at Rockport, he felt as if he was entering hell itself. The only way into the village from Boston led through Lexington, Concord and then a large forested area of the mountains where the street was moving in serpentines through the mountains and hills that formed the area. As soon as Haytham had maneuvered his car out of the woods and onto the narrow street that was leading through the small village, he was met with cold smoke and rubble. He did not feel as if he had only been gone for four weeks, but a whole entire life. The first house he had expected to see on his left was completely reduced to ash as he drove past the place where it had stood. _The Miles’ End_ was in ruins. As he drove further down the road the devastation and destruction only became clearer and clearer to him. Bodies were scattered alongside the road, left where they had fallen and died without a care in the world. Neighbors. Assassins. Men and Women.

The dead bodies he came across were dressed differently than most times he would see them. They were wearing jackets with hoods, tight pants, firm boots, all of them geared up to fight. Fight against what?

Where his stomach once was, now only a clump of coal seemed to remain. He could not even think straight as he was slowly maneuvering his car through the ruins of the village, past dead bodies and broken down houses. It was better this way. If he would even try to think about anything, he would go into a panic, he was sure of that. Whatever happened, it had been violent and quick. They had not seen it coming. They had not been prepared. He did not much care for those fallen Assassins. He could not care less that they had died. His only worries were for Connor and Ziio.

Was he surprised to see that their house was not unharmed either? He could not say that. As he slowly drove off the main road and maneuvered his car onto their property, he tried to take in the damage. The house was burned severely, but not yet completely broken down. It would crash like a house of cards when the next storm would hit. There was nothing left. His research, gone, Connor's toys, gone. Everything. Still, Haytham tried to keep his composure as he parked his car, turned it off and climbed out of it. Suddenly, he felt like the last man to wander the earth. He was walking through a wasteland of ash and dead bodies, his only hope was that he would not find his wife and son between those bodies.

The brick stone facade of his house was black from the fire and the smoke, the roof had broken down completely. The windows and the front door were gaping holes like dead eyes that were staring straight at him as he slowly walked towards the house. He felt as if he had no strength to even lift his feet while he was walking. All he felt was a sudden wave of nausea and panic rumbling deep inside his stomach as it turned around and around. The people he had seen lying dead alongside the road or on their properties had been killed by gunshots and many of them too. _Overkill_ , some might propose. The attack had been coordinated. It had been planned and executed clinically, methodically. All of this almost screamed _Templars_ at him and who else would burn down an Assassin Enclave like this anyway?

Haytham could almost see it happening in front of his eyes now as he walked up the front porch of his home. They had arrived in the dead of the night, their teams had swarmed out over the homestead and then, on cue, they had barged into the homes and surprised the Assassins in their sleep – or at least that had been the plan. It seemed as if quite a lot had tried to fight back as if they had almost expected the attack. All of the dead Assassins that Haytham had seen had been geared up and ready as it had happened and he was sure that they had taken down a lot of their attackers too.

He tried not to imagine the horror his son had gone through. When did it happen? The bodies did not look like they were older than a day and their blood had tainted the puddles of water that a strong storm had brought towards Rockport last night. Maybe all of this had been happening last night as he had been sleeping peacefully in his hotel room, resting with the only thought in his mind being that he would see his family again today. As he peeked inside the house he knew that it would not be safe to go inside. The building could come crashing down on him at any second if he would wander through the rooms.

He wanted to call out for Ziio, but his throat felt tight. He could not speak.

It was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced in his life and a part of him still firmly believed that none of this was even real. Surely he was still lying in his hotel room, sleeping, dreaming. He could not care less for the dead Assassins all around him, but his family was a different story. He tried to get a look inside his house as he leaned in but he could not make out something that would tell him about his family’s whereabouts. He had half expected to find Connor and Ziio slaughtered in the hallway, lying there like on a silver plate, but they did not and this only made it easier for the slight feeling of hope to find a way to creep into his heart and mind.

What if they had managed to escape?

Surely, if anyone, then  _his_ family would be able to! Surely, Ziio had understood the situation, grabbed Connor and ran. She was the best huntress that Haytham had ever known! She knew how to roam the forest silently! And she knew this piece of land like the back of her own hand! Surely she had escaped. She was safe. Connor was safe. There was no other option.

So, now it was on him to find them out there and to make a plan what they needed to do next. They needed to go into hiding, all of them. He was not naive enough to think that the Templars had not attacked this village out of every possible target without knowing that this was his home. Of course, it was just as possible that all of this had been a coincidence, but to Haytham this possibility seemed highly unlikely. The Templars never did anything by coincidence. This had been planned. Someone had known where to find this location. Someone had known that Haytham was living here. Was he himself at danger now if he would go back to Abstergo? Maybe they did not know. He could only cling to this possibility at the moment.

Anyway, no matter if they did know or not, it was not important now. He needed to find his family.

And so, Haytham circled the house. His shoes sunk into puddles of dirt and rainwater as he ran to the back of the house. He was not as good as Ziio or Connor when it came to reading tracks, but even if he would be, here this skill would have been useless. Behind his house, the grass was trampled by a good dozen of heavy boots. The destruction of his home and the village itself seemed to find no end as he looked around.

Haytham could not do much except for running down a small path, alongside a small creek, before he reached the farm. It would have been fruitless to aimlessly run into the forest without even a hint of where to find Ziio and Connor. So, first, he decided, he needed to check the other plots of land. However, the farm too was completely destroyed. The farmhouse had crumbled down into a pile of ash, rubble and a few beams of hardwood that had not been burned entirely. Even the cornfield had not entirely survived the flames. It had only partially been saved by the rain. He could see the cows and pigs roam around aimlessly, but he did not care enough for them to do anything about this. He kept running. For a moment, he wanted to look around the properties that he had passed on his way through the village, but it would be only a waste of time, he thought. Those houses were all almost completely destroyed. The history buff in him felt almost devastated thinking that his own people had so brutally erased a piece of history like this. All of the buildings on this piece of land were from the colonial era and now all of it was gone as it seemed.

As he went back to the main street again he was already a little out of breath. Shortly he looked around, trying to find at least a hint of his family in his panic, but he did not. The only thing he noticed was that the old church was not entirely destroyed. Almost it looked as if the attackers had not cared enough to make sure that the church, the school, would burn completely to the ground before they had left.

Again he could feel a spark of hope inside of him. Maybe they were there. As he ran across the old wooden bridge, another thought crossed his mind for the first time. Where were all the other children? Until now, he had simply forgotten about them in his panic. He had seen their parents lying dead in puddles of mud and not bat a lash, but what about the children? Maybe Ziio had managed to get all of them out. It was the only thing he could think of right now. And if not then surely the other Templars had just grabbed the kids and taken them with them for whatever reason. He did not really care as long as his son was safe.

There was a part of him that did not want to believe that his own comrades would kill innocent children just like this, just because their parents were Assassins. Surely they would start reeducating them instead as they had done with Haytham all those years ago. As he found the first of the teenagers lying face down in a puddle, his hope started to die off a little. The girl had long blonde hair which was now pooling around her head on the ground. Haytham knew her, even though he had forgotten her name. He had often enough seen her around the village, running around, climbing and jumping from rooftops. An Assassin in training and a good one too. He remembered that she had always worn her hair in a tight braid so that it would not annoy her during her training. As he stopped by her corpse he felt the sudden urge to turn her around and clean her up, but he did not. He had no time for sensitivities like this. She had been shot in the back but she had never seemed to be the type of person who would run from a fight. Then again, she had been only sixteen years old and this her very first encounter with the enemy as far as Haytham could tell. Maybe she had tried to run away in a blind panic.

Shooting a scared little girl in the back … How cowardly.

He found a teenage boy lying not too far from the side of the church. His body was bent and twisted in a horrible way of which Haytham rather not wanted to imagine how it came to be. He had been beaten to death. No bullet had been wasted on him. The weapon still laid next to him: a primitive wooden club that was still stained with blood and other things that Haytham did not want to think about. This was not typical for a Templar operation. They did not waste their time on violence like this. They shot their targets clean and fast, like that girl. It was a catastrophe. All of this.

Above his head, the old flag was still waving in a soft breeze that was coming from the sea, undisturbed and only a little scorched by the flames that had started to destroy the roof structure of the church. Haytham felt almost sick, as he reached the door of the church and as he laid his right hand on the doorknob a thought of anguish and horror washed over him and the sudden sense that he did not want to open the door and see what was inside. He did so anyway. With a jolt, he ripped open the door although it was stuck in its frame after the fire and the water seeping into the wood. A horrible smell washed over him immediately and for a long moment, Haytham just stood there in shock. He needed time to process what he was seeing but as he did, nausea overcame him and he had to press his left hand on his mouth so he would not vomit.

He had seen many things in his life. He himself was not an innocent man. He had killed before. He was prone to violence himself. He had seen war and terror in other countries, bloodshed and needless violence. But this … This was something even he could not even begin to understand.

He had found the children. All of them.

As he turned away from the sight of the dead bodies inside of the former church, he felt his eyes burning and his chest tighten. He did not want to go inside to look for his own boy. He knew that it was possible that Connor was one of the children inside, but the thought did not manage to really sink in. He did not allow it. So, after a moment, Haytham straightened his back again, took a deep breath and stepped inside, regardless of how dangerous it might be to enter the building.

The kids, teenagers, for the most part, had been shot and the wooden panels on the walls of the church were black from the fire and perforated with bullet holes. They had used some kind of machine gun. The lucky ones had been dead immediately. For once, Haytham was shocked over himself and the way he was able to dissect what had been happening in such a cold and rational fashion, but that was exactly what had kept him alive during his own childhood. That was what had allowed him to keep going and to become the man who he now was. Weeping for the innocent lives that had been taken, would not bring them back. He could only remember this day and try to imagine the horrors those kids had gone through. For just an agonizing second, he thought that he had found Connor and his friends further in the back, and while his body was revolting and refusing to step closer, his mind forced him to.

Only when he was close enough to see the bloodied faces of the children lying on the ground, he was able to release the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. It wasn't them. He had mistaken the long black mane of a girl for that of his son’s or Kanen'tó:kon's. Connor was not here and neither were his friends.

The thought made him feel the jolt of hope again in his chest, while at the same instant he felt nothing but sadness wash over him. He knew those kids. He knew all of them. The most he only knew from sight, but Connor's friends had been regular guests in their house no matter what their parents had thought about Haytham and so, despite him not being liked by them, he felt relief that he did not find them between the dead either.

Twelve-year-old Stephane had often enough angered Haytham to the point where he had wanted to hang him from a tree by a pair of suspenders. Six-year-old Dobby had quite the big mouth and bad influence on his son. Kanen'tó:kon had always been very good in calming Connor’s bad temper when he had had a fight with one of the others. There were many things that Haytham did not like about his son’s friends, but, they had not been here, they had not been shot in this church. Thank God.

This was no longer just an attack on a village of Assassins, this was something more. This was extermination. This was savage, brutal, cruel and unnecessary.

They tended to forget it when they would sit in their nice offices or roam the white hallways of Abstergo busy with their research, but they were fighting a war and this, right here, was the ugly face of it. This was what war really looked like.

And it was easy to forget, wasn’t it? Even to him! He had seen war before. He had traveled the world. He had been to war zones. He had seen destroyed cities. He had seen bombs going off. He had seen children starve to death. He knew the reality of things. But now that he had settled down, he was just as guilty of forgetting that this between them, the Templars, and the Assassins was indeed a war. And in a war there was bloodshed, there was killing, there were casualties and there was murder. Yet, despite knowing all of this, Haytham felt his world shift ever so slightly.

Had he really thought the Templars to be better than this? That they, the Templars, would really be any different than the terror groups he had seen all over the world? Had he really thought that the Templars would refrain from doing something as horrible and disturbing as this?

He had been living in a bubble. He had never thought that he, Haytham Kenway, of all people, would one day say this, but, yes, he had been living in a bubble. He had thought that he and Ziio would be able to work things out for them and that he could lead this double life without repercussions, without harm to his family. He had turned a blind eye to this war that was raging between their groups because it had been easier and more comfortable.

Haytham was glad as he left the church again while at the same time he felt as if he could not simply let the kids behind like this. He wanted to do something, but he could not afford the time and effort it would take him to dig a grave for each and every one of those poor lost souls. There was nothing he could do now to ease the pain of those children. They were gone and he could do nothing about it. He could only try and find his own child now, as long as there was a chance to find him alive.

And if not … Well, he did not even want to think about that. However, he had always been a man very prone to seeking revenge. The old Haytham, the Haytham he had been long before he had met Ziio, would have never been as blind as this. Maybe it was time to revisit that man.

As he stepped away from the bloodbath inside of the church, his eyes felt drawn to the house on the hill. He had not been there often in the past. Maybe three or four times. Achilles had never been very fond of him or his presence here in the village and he had made it very clear to Ziio and him how he felt about their relationship in the first place, but Haytham knew that Connor liked the big house. Maybe Ziio and he were there. Maybe they had been able to hide there. Maybe the old man did have one more trick up his sleeve.

He ran, even though his legs hurt already. He ran up the hill without wasting another glance at the bodies that were now adorning his path. He just ran past the fallen Assassins as if none of them mattered, without even sparing them as much as a glance or a thought. This was war. An endless war between two groups that both thought only their path was the right one and he had been an idiot to forget about this war. He had no time to think about the fact that each of those persons had been a human being and not just some random Assassin until the attack. Now they were only rotting corpses, pieces of flesh that would soon be eaten away by maggots and other creatures. There was no reason to dig holes in the ground for them or even-

All of the sudden, Haytham felt as if he had been struck by lightning and burned from the inside out by its force. Within an instant, everything that had made him himself was gone, burned away, vanished. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the body lying in the grass on the side of the road, half hidden behind a small rosebush that was decorating the path.

The attack had been meant to be a surprise from behind that bush. It had failed.

For a moment, that almost felt as long as eternity, he was sure that he mistook the woman for anyone else, that his mind was playing tricks on him out of panic and worry, that he was seeing things that were not really there perhaps even. But, the longer he stood and stared, the clearer the truth became.

His legs felt wobbly and his knees as if they had been replaced by pudding all of the sudden. Maybe even by that chocolate pudding that Connor loved so much and that Ziio would cook for him whenever he begged her with his giant puppy eyes. He thought that he would not be able to make another step and yet he forced his legs to move towards the body that was lying motionless on the ground, suddenly unfeeling and his mind a blank canvas. »Ziio« The name escaped him like a ghostly little whisper and almost sounded unreal even to himself. It could not be Ziio. And yet it was. It was false and yet it was her who was lying in the grass like this, her body bent and twisted to the side. The bullet had gone straight through her stomach and the blood that had pooled around her had tainted the grass in a way that Haytham was sure would never go away. A constant reminder of the attack and the life that had been lost here.

As he crouched down next to her lifeless body, he could only hear a long beeping sound and nothing else ringing in his ears. There were no birds, no rustling of leaves, only this shrill beep that filled his brain entirely as he gently cradled his wife in his arms. Another bullet had ripped through her left shoulder, but knowing Ziio she had still fought relentlessly. Her hidden blade was still out, blood clinging to the knife. She had surely fought like a lioness against the attackers, for her son, for the other children, for the village. Of course, she had not grabbed their boy and ran away. Of course, she had stayed to fight.

A few locks of her long dark mane had escaped the braid that she wore and were now sticking to her left cheek. Her hair was still wet, as were her clothes and her skin. And yet, looking at her bloodied face, Haytham was sure that she would open her brown eyes the next moment. She would belittle him again and throw one of her more comical insults at him for being such a fool and falling for her charade. But she did not. She remained dead silent and still in his arms, even as he brushed his fingers over her cheek and brushed away the hair as if to coax life back into her body. She had died a warrior, just as she had lived and there were no words he could say, nothing to do about it. Maybe this was the biggest honor any Assassin could receive in death, to know that their death had not been without a fight. He wanted to remain with her and not think about anything else, but Connor was still out there somewhere and he was now the only thing that mattered to him. He, and the hope that Ziio's death would not have been in vain as long as Connor was still alive.

Still, even though he knew the urgency of the situation, he could not bring himself to get up. Fear now held him frozen in place. He wanted to stay here, he wanted to avoid the possibility of finding his baby boy like this too. He would jump off the cliffs if he would find Connor like this. A thought, he had never thought capable of thinking. Suicide had never been an option for him. To waste his life and opportunities like this, was not an option and yet it was all he could think about as he was imagining to find Connor's dead little body in the dirt like the other kids. How should he even be able to move on with his life after this?

But no, that was Haytham the father talking. The old Haytham, the Haytham he had been before he had grown weak, would never have thought about suicide. He would stay alive and do anything in his power to get those responsible for the attack to pay for it a hundred times.

A moment went by in which he did nothing, then another. He did not know how long he had been sitting in the wet grass like this, cradling his dead wife without being able to express what he felt even through tears. There were no tears, only the hot burning behind his eyes. There were no words. There was just an endless void inside of him. The last time that he had seen her and talked to her, they had been fighting. The last time he had seen her, she had talked to him about divorce. All of this was not right.

As he finally rose from his spot on the ground, he lifted Ziio up on his arms. He could not possibly leave her out here like this. Slowly he made his way towards the house. Ziio was incredibly heavy in his arms, even though she wasn't. He had never had a problem of carrying her around like this. Shortly he remembered the day of their wedding. Ziio had always mocked the traditions of wedding ceremonies and Haytham had taken this as his reason to do everything she had only ever laughed about in movies just to annoy her, up to the point where he had carried his bride into their hotel room.

Ziio had laughed so loud and uncontrollably that she had banged her head against the doorframe as Haytham had tried to maneuver them through the door without inflicting injury. After this, she had only laughed even harder. They had been happy. They had been hopelessly in love. They had tried to not think about the consequences of their love. They had been living in the moment, overwhelmed with happiness because of their secret wedding and because of the child that had been growing already under Ziio's heart. They had decided to be blind and deaf to the truth from that moment onward. The night of their wedding they had stayed up until morning, doing nothing at all except eating cake, watching TV and thinking about baby names. Thinking back now, remembering this night, he wondered how either one of them could have been so blind and stupid.

They had been doomed from the start and they had known it even on this fateful night. It had been almost like celebrating the end of the world to them, like celebrating their madness, only that they themselves had not understood it like that back then.

The front door of the big house stood wide open and by now and Haytham was not even surprised anymore to be greeted by dead bodies and blood. He could see straight through the long hallway and out of the backdoor that too was wide open. He found only two Assassins lying inside the house as he entered. There was a whole lot more blood and spots on the ground that appeared as if there had been bodies lying there too. Templars, perhaps. Surely they had been transported back. There was no way of leaving traces of them back here.

He found Achilles next to the staircase that led up to the first floor. The old man had been shot in the back two times until he had fallen down and bled out. It almost looked like he had wanted to go somewhere as if he had wanted to hurry to some place safe. Sure enough, Haytham found the not so very secret basement door standing wide open too.

He turned left, though and straight into Achilles’ bedroom, where he slowly laid Ziio down on the old man’s bed. She deserved her rest and Haytham sat down next to her on the bed for a moment in which he just looked at her again. No matter their fights or that their marriage had been already broken when he had left for Boston, he loved her. There was no doubt in his heart about it. He loved her still and he would have continued to do so. He loved her despite her efforts to kick him out of her life. As he sat in the room with her now, surrounded only by dead bodies all over the place, he leaned down to place a small kiss on her forehead. »I'm sorry.« He muttered quietly under his breath. »I should have been here.« Almost he expected an answer, but as none came he placed his hand on her cheek again and took another deep breath. »But I need to find our son now. I swear to god that I will find him, Ziio. And when I do, I will protect him with my life. Do not worry about it.«

She would certainly find a way to even scold him from the grave if she would deem it necessary, he mused. At least that was what she had always told him.

This time he rose with determination in his heart and rushed out of the room without another glance at his wife. He hurried down the steps of the basement, but he could see nothing except the old training dummy in the center and a bunch of empty tailor's dummies on the side of the cellar. He knew that they had worn historical assassin robes before. They had been taken. »Connor!« He shouted and his voice echoed from the naked stone walls in an almost entirely too eerie way even for him. There was no response. Still, Haytham took the time to look under every table and into every nook and cranny. Nothing. Only spiders crawling lazily about. Connor was afraid of spiders, even though he did not say it like this. Surely he had not crawled into a tight space with the possibility of spiders crawling all over him.

And so Haytham ran back upstairs again. The backdoor too was open and although he had seen it right away as he had entered, he had not thought that Connor might have gone out of the house like this. Maybe his son had survived the attack in the basement and then later came out after everything had grown silent. Maybe he had stumbled over Achilles and all the other dead bodies. He did not want to think about the horror his baby son had gone through. Connor was tough for a four-year-old … But he was only four years old. He was still his baby, whether he liked it or not.

The cliffs were not too far off and knowing this, another horrible thought suddenly grabbed his heart and refused to let it go. What if Connor had not escaped the intruders? What if they had grabbed him and thrown his little body over the edge of the cliffs? The thought made him froze as he walked outside. He felt its cold hand wrapping around his heart and squeezing it. What if Connor had been crushed between those cliffs? What if he would never find him because his body had been washed away by the sea? He remembered how he had taught him to swim last summer. Ziio had sat at the beach and watched them with great amusement while Haytham had thought how his own father had taught him how to swim.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he forced himself to move on. There were no tracks, at least none that had not been washed away by rain already and he was too tired to try and read them. He wanted to give up and drown in his fears and thoughts and the painfully horrible images in his head, but then something caught his eyes.

A few feet down the path that led from the house down the hill towards the beach, lay something in the wet grass. Haytham almost had to drag his legs as he walked up to the item that was lying there but as he stopped and picked it up, he could only feel relief. It was the plush wolf that he had given his son all this time ago and which was Connor's trusted companion ever since. He had taken him with him as he had escaped their house. The thought almost made him laugh and finally brought real tears to his eyes. Despite the horrors of this attack, Connor had thought to bring his wolf along for protection. But now it lay here and Connor did not.

There was still the possibility that Connor was dead, thrown over the cliffs or had simply lost the wolf here and lay somewhere else entirely, but suddenly, as if the wolf meant something, Haytham started to feel hope again. He was almost certain now that his boy was still alive and kicking somewhere. Connor would have never lost his wolf and if he had, he would have done so earlier than at this point. He had lost it here right at that spot and Haytham could only guess that he had been abducted. That was now the only hope he still had left. Connor was somewhere and he would find him.

As he sat there, crouched down on the grass, he noticed the little blotch of blood and grabbed the soaking wet plush wolf a little harder. Whatever had happened to his son, whoever was responsible for his disappearance, Haytham knew that he would draw blood when the time came that he would find this person. No one would hurt his son and get away with it.

Fueling with rage, he rose again and it was right in that moment, that he noticed movement down the hill. His first thought was, that it had been an animal for sure, but then, he noticed the movement again. It was not much more than a rustling of the leaves of a bush not too far off down the hill, the sound of little twigs snapping in the distance as if a bunny was running through the underwood. Then, he saw something between the green leaves that would not fit and before he even knew it, Haytham was moving in the direction of the noise. Maybe Connor was still here. That was the thought that made him move forward. Maybe his son had - somehow - managed to escape. He would not put it past Connor! His son was clever!

His son knew how to hunt even and that was more than most four-year-old children knew!

Haytham almost stumbled down the path, so fast he tried to get to the thing he had heard, despite the fact that it could still be nothing at all. Well, either nothing or a confused rabbit, he assumed. Whatever it was, even if it turned out to be nothing, Haytham was adamant to find out. It wasn't long or far off from the house, as Haytham heard the rustling again and this time he even saw something that made his heart stop for a second. He saw a tuft of black hair hiding in the bushes along the narrow path that led down to the bay. »Connor!« The shout escaped him without his permission and without thinking too much about it.

»Mr. Kenway?« The voice was thin and hesitant but made Haytham stop dead in his tracks nevertheless. The tuft of black hair that Haytham had seen before did not belong to his son and he could feel hope falling off of him like dead skin. The leaves of a bush were rustling loudly as Kanen'tó:kon cautiously crawled out of it and looked at Haytham with large eyes. There was blood spatters on his plump face. He could feel annoyance and anger boiling inside of him. A little voice in his mind was telling him that he was wasting his time with this boy, but the rest of him was glad to find Kanen'tó:kon alive. He was Connor's best friend, he had spent the night at their house numerous times. And if this boy had survived the attack, his son had too.

Kanen'tó:kon's eyes fell on the plush in Haytham’s left hand and for a moment, the Brit did not even know what to say. All of this felt so incredibly wrong and out of place, that his mind was still trying to figure out a solution to all of this. But, no matter how hard he tried, he just could not come up with something. »What has happened here?« He finally managed to ask the young boy as Kanen'tó:kon was fidgeting with his tiny hands. He looked positively terrified and just as if he was about to throw himself directly in Haytham's arms. He did not. Thankfully.

»I don't know.« Kanen'tó:kon quietly replied as tears were rolling down his face.

Suddenly there was another rustling around them again and then little faces that were appearing out of the foliage around the path. The Assassins in training used this path down to the beach as training grounds to teach their novices how to sneak up on others. A part of him thought that, of course, Kanen'tó:kon and the other kids would now where to hide from their attackers. Six other children slowly entered the path in front of them and Haytham immediately recognized them despite the blood and dirt that was clinging to their faces.

They were all there. Kanen'tó:kon, Deborah Carter, Jamie Collins, Duncan Little, Stephane Chapeau, Jacob Zenger and Clipper Wilkinson. As he stepped closer he expected to find Connor too, but no matter how much he did look around, Connor was not with them. Only seven terrified, tired children in wet clothes with dirt and blood clinging to them. Haytham could not even fathom what they had gone through during the last night and, frankly, he did not want to either. Those kids did not matter to him, no matter how much he would have liked to say otherwise and play the good man that he was acting as around his own son. He had never been fond of children, except his own.

Those kids, to him, were ballast and yet he could not leave them here.

»It's time to go.« He addressed the group with a sigh. »I get you somewhere safe.«

 

**\- End of Chapter 5 –**


	6. Chapter 6

As Edward James Kenway heard the news for the first time, he almost felt like his whole world was coming crumbling down on him. The message was short but all the more impactful. »Davenport has fallen. No survivors.«

※※※※※※※

The world around him was blurry. His head was split in two. It was not dark around him, but he was not able to see anything anyway because the awfully loud white light flooding the space all around him was making him blind. It was as if he had been tossed into the void – no sounds, no images, only an endless world of pure white light. For just a second, he wondered if this was what heaven looked like. Maybe he died. Maybe he was dead and in heaven now. Maybe he would see his mother again now. Suddenly a loud sound startled him as it echoed in the world around him like the ripples on a calm lake under the impact of a small little pebble. His ears were violently attacked by the loud beeping sound that was the result of the first one, filling his head and making it impossible for him to think or feel anything.

Connor tried to find the source of the loud snapping sound, but he could hardly move and then it happened again, louder even and closer as if to mock and torture him, as if, whoever made that sound, knew fully well how much it hurt his head. He forced his eyes open, despite the fact that he had not noticed how he had squeezed them shut beforehand due to the sudden noise. As his eyes finally managed to adjust, he could see the large hand of a man, rough and big and more like the paw of a bear, in front of his face, before the loud sound occurred again and only worsened his headache further.

Connor blinked, trying desperately to make the world around him appear again and sure enough slowly things were starting to appear out of the white void around him. Out of the corner of his right eye, he could see a small silvery shining table and a silvery shining door. There was nothing but white on his left-hand side. The loud noise happened again as, once more, the hand appeared in front of his face. As he now looked at the hand in front of him he found that the hand was not just floating in midair. There was an arm attached to the hand and as he followed the arm that was covered in a thick white fabric, he found that the arm was attached to a shoulder and the shoulder was attached to a body and a head and a face.

A large person was almost looming over him, dressed in a white lab coat. It was a man with a narrow pale face and thick glasses on his nose. He wore his blonde hair very short and his dull gray eyes looked like those of a dead fish but haunted by something that Connor could not describe, as he stared at him. Connor did not like him. He felt uncomfortable in this man’s presence almost instantly. Then again, he was surely a doctor, after all, he was wearing a lab coat and for all Connor knew, only doctors would wear lab coats. Surely his father had come to get him and now he was in a hospital after he had hit his head. That was the only thing that started to make sense to him at least for now.

»Pupils look normal.« A voice suddenly sounded and it took him a moment, almost a full minute even, to understand that it was the man that was hovering over him who had talked. Suddenly a bright light was flashing straight into his eyes and then it was gone again. »Pupil reaction is normal too.« The man spoke up again. Was he talking to Connor? He could not see anyone else. Then again, out of his position, lying on his back on a soft mattress and with this man towering over him, his field of vision was quite limited anyway. »I do not find any indication of possible brain damage just yet, his injuries are superficial. Still, there really was no need to knock him out like this.« The man’s voice was calm, but he did not sound nice. He sounded stressed, almost. Suddenly the man’s face vanished out of his field of vision as he stood up straight again. »Anyway. prepare the machine for Subject Nine. I do not want to waste more time than we already have.«

※※※※※※※

Going back to Boston was not an option. Haytham was not fully certain if they, the Templars or Abstergo, were searching for him or if there would be any danger waiting for him in the city at all. Then again, he was, of course, not naive enough to believe that the Templar Order would not know about his family in Rockport. Many within the Order had looked at him with suspicion when they had learned of his own Assassin heritage through his old father. As he had chosen an Assassin to be his wife… Well, he had signed his own death sentence in that very moment, as Charles so eloquently put it back then. This was a truth he had refused to accept, regardless of how many of the people surrounding him had told him exactly that. Even his own father had expressed his worries back then, though his worries had been coupled with the slight bit of hope that his son would change his path because of Ziio and their family. Looking back now, he had thought that he had accepted it, but the truth was that the reality of this decision had not fully sunken in until this day. He had always thought himself to be invincible. He had always been of the opinion that something like this, something so horrendous could never happen to him and Ziio. They were safe. That had always been a lie that he had told himself. And it had been oh so easy to do so. It had felt oh so very comfortable in this little bubble of his out there in the wilderness, out there close to the woods with his beautiful wife and his wild little son. How much more perfect could it have been?

Now the bubble had been burst by the attackers and his wife was dead. His son was missing. And he, for once, did not know what to do. Happiness was something that tended not to last for very long - this was a lesson that he should have learned back as he himself had been but a child.

He had left the village in his car, after he had guided the kids back to his own destroyed house and managed to get them all into the way too small vehicle. As the children huddled together on the backseat, exhausted and worn out by the events, Haytham had thrown one last look in the rearview mirror to see the large house on the hill burn. His wife had always told him that she wanted to be burned when she would be dead and so Haytham had granted her this last favor. The kids had been crying as they had walked through the village, past the dead that were lying across the road, but Haytham had done his best not to stop and listen. There had been no time to coo over those children. There had been no time to calm them down. This was the life they would be living from now on. This was the life their parents had chosen for them. Death was woven into the very construct of their souls. Death would always be the one constant in their lives and they, despite their age, should better get used to it quickly.

It was already late and the sky tinted in a dark pink, as Haytham found a motel on the side of the road, far enough away from Boston and the village to not be a target right away. He had left his own car in Concord and not long after that he had found another car and bought it cheap from a young man. No papers, no documentation, just in case. He could have continued to use his own car, but the possibility of the car being tracked down had been too big of a risk for him. Even if there would be no danger waiting for him in Boston, even if the Templars were not coming after him, he was not willing to take that risk. He had been taught how to vanish into thin air from an early age on and that was exactly what he needed to do now. Fake ID, fake drivers license, fake credit cards. It was always good to have things like that at one’s disposal in a situation like this.

With a faint smirk, he remembered how long it had taken him all those years ago to find out Ziio’s real name.

The kids, all of them, were fast asleep in the motel room, either sharing the bed or lying on the floor with blankets and pillows after a scarce meal of fast food that they had gotten from some cheap drive-in on their way when Haytham first glanced at his left wrist again. The cold steel that was pressing against his skin still felt unfamiliar and dangerous, but it came with a certain sense of safety in this moment, a small bit of comfort even as if it was Ziio guiding his left hand from now on. And, clutching his son’s plush wolf with his right hand, he had never wanted to call his own father so badly in his adult life.

Maybe the old man would know what to do. The thought came to him as quickly as a lightning bolt would strike and was just as disastrous. Then again, if Haytham would tell him what had happened, his father would immediately come to America to join him in his search for Connor and that was a risk too great to take. He needed to keep a low profile, at least until he would have found a way to get those kids into safety. He knew about a few Assassin Enclaves in America of course. Black Hills would be the closest to reach now, but this too would be too dangerous, he assumed. He could not take the risk now. If the Templars already were at his heels he would lead them straight to the next enclave, to the next families, to the next children. Maybe that even was what they were hoping for. Then again, he was doomed anyway if they were already at his heels.

However, there still was the question nagging on him how all of this could have happened in the first place. Had the Templars already known about the Homestead before? Had they known about Haytham's involvement from the start perhaps? Had someone betrayed him? He did not even like to think about the possibility that someone he had trusted had betrayed that trust, but he was aware that this was the most likely truth. Only two people within the Order knew about his family, at least as far as he was aware. Charles, whom he had told about it from the beginning and Shay, who had found out by himself and urged him to go home, while Charles had urged him to stay away from home.

He was not willing to believe that either one of them had done something like this to him and his family.

But if one of them had … then who? With an exasperated sigh, he brushed his hand through his hair and messed it up quite a bit like this. He could not say who of those two men was more likely to betray him. Charles was his friends for such a long time that he could hardly remember a time without the tense Brit beside him. And Shay … Well, sure, he did not know him as long as Charles, but somehow Shay had quite quickly gained his trust. But had it all been just a scheme? Had he started to trust him too willingly? Too quickly?

Had Shay perhaps targeted him from the start? Had he been instructed to befriend Haytham and gain his trust to find out every detail about his life that he was perhaps hiding from the other Templars? He would not put it past the Order. It was true that the Templars were much more scheming and secretive. They were always looking for a weak point in their own companions to find out if those companions might be dangerous to the entire Order or if there was something that could be gained from their weakness.

Whoever the traitor might be in the end, Haytham could not contact any one of them, but he would find out about this and how the situation came to be. He was done with staying put. Maybe it was time to get the old Haytham Kenway back onto the stage. As long as his son was in danger, he would not fuck around any longer. In the past four years, he had lost his edge as it appeared. No one would have dared to fuck with him in such a way just a few years ago. Apparently, he needed to remind his enemies of who he really was.

He rose with a jolt and left the room and the kids behind without another second of hesitation. He needed to get his head clear. He needed a bit of fresh air. It was unusually cold for a night in June, as he stepped outside, but the weather mirrored Haytham's own inner conflict, he assumed. Outside, in front of the little motel, was a payphone and Haytham walked towards it with long fast steps, determined to do as he had decided before he could falter.

And yet he worried about the danger this call could mean to his family. Maybe the payphone was not safe enough. He was very aware of that possibility, but that knowledge hardly changed anything now that he had decided on calling his father. There was no other way for him now as long as he did not know who he could trust. His father, however, yes, he could always trust his father and if not for his loyalty than for his thirst for revenge. After all, his grandson was in danger.

Still, he found himself hesitating as he stepped closer to the payphone. He felt as if he was betraying the Templar Order as if he was betraying something inside of himself. As if, with every step he made towards this phone, with every inch he bridged between him and that stupid payphone, he was leaving behind his own life, his own past, his own future. But there was no time for a maybe now any longer. He had to act. Now every single second did count to get his son back. And with every second that went by in which he did nothing, it became harder and harder not to think about the horrors that Connor might have already been subjected to.

Finally, he straightened his back and grabbed the phone, but before he could even dial the number, his hand was grabbed so hard that the phone slid from his fingers. He felt his stomach drop dramatically, he felt his blood drain from his face and his limbs grow cold in an instant. He had not heard his attacker as if the person had materialized from the shadows of the parking lot around him. He had been too occupied with his own mind, with his own worries, with his own feelings. He had not heard his attacker and now he was going to pay the price and his son would be lost forever. But his body immediately reacted before he could even think about it. Bracing himself for the attack, he managed to grab the hand of his attacker with his own free hand and twist his wrist around as he himself whirled around to look at the person who was about to-

»A good evening to you too, Haytham.«

※※※※※※※

It had not been an easy decision to make and perhaps, looking back, it had been not even entirely his own decision in the first place. Shay Patrick Cormac was a man who prided himself in the fact that he was not easily swayed after he had decided upon a path to follow or an opinion to fight for. He was sturdy as a rock in stormy seas in his beliefs, as one old friend had once told him in a mocking tone. He had decided to follow the Templars from a young age on and he had never once regretted this decision even in the slightest bit possible since. He had been certain to follow the right path, to do the right thing. And for years he had been certain that never his beliefs would get challenged. Now, however, the world looked a whole lot different to Shay as it had just a few years ago when he joined the Templar Order in some almost romanticized ritual in a candle lit room somewhere in New York.

He had never been quite fond of Charles Lee, but, as he had been introduced to Haytham Kenway and joined him in his seemingly never ending quest of searching for those damned artifacts, he had accepted that Charles was, sadly, an undeniable part of the life of Haytham Kenway inside the Templar Order, which was the only life he got, for all the other Templars were supposed to know about him. Shay knew better, of course. Well, he was paid to spy on people. He was being paid to find out details about other people's lives. Of course, he had done so first and foremost with Haytham too and spent a lot of his time to find out everything about his boss and friend. Back then it had been his curiosity urging him to find out a bit more about the man to whom he had looked up quite a bit back then. Later, he had justified his need to stalk him by telling himself that he should know what kind of person this man was whom he was going to follow through hell and back if necessary.

At least he had found out who Haytham Edward Kenway really was in his core and now … Well, now everything appeared as if he was about to follow him through hell and - hopefully - back too.

Tracking down Haytham had not been too hard. He knew his secret home address in Rockport all too well, even though Haytham had taken great care to not get it registered in the past and not have it appeared anywhere. Shay, of course, had his own ways of finding out things like this. He did not need someone like Charles Lee to tell him. He did not need to follow Haytham like a shadow or some creepy little stalker.

As he arrived in Rockport, that sleepy little village that had been lost to the world in the middle of the woods, embraced by sharp mountains and the sea, he felt as if he was wandering the ruins of an old and long forgotten town. The thunderstorm of last night had done it's best to wash away some of the evidence of what had happened in this place, but it had not been able to wash away the dead bodies that were lying along the narrow road that was leading through the small village. In the distance, he could still see the fire that was devouring a building on top of the hill that was overlooking the sea and the nearby bay. The wind that was coming from the sea carried the salty smell of the waves and the stench of the smoke and sulfur coming from the house in the distance.

As Shay climbed out of his jeep and slowly made his way through the village, he grew more and more certain that Haytham was not here for him to find any longer. It was out of the question that Haytham had been here before. In the mud of the dirt road ahead he could see the still fresh tire tracks of a car. Under different circumstances, Shay would have made the effort to inspect the tire tracks closer, but even from afar he could tell that those were the markings of Haytham's car. He had, by God, seen them often enough already. The tracks were heading out of the village and were probably not too old yet. He would still be able to find him easily. Haytham had left his hotel room in Boston early in the morning without even having breakfast in his room, so Shay estimated that Haytham had to have arrived here in the late morning hours. Now it was noon. He could not be far.

With a sigh, Shay leaned his back against his black jeep and closed his eyes. This place would have been peaceful and calming with the birds singing in the trees and the soft breeze of the sea shaking the leaves of the large trees all around. He had grown up in a village such as this until his poor mother had died and his father had taken him to New York when he had been but nine years old. He could still remember the days he had spent with his best friend Liam O'Brien running around in the forest of their small little mining town all those years ago. Their paths had separated as his father had taken him to New York. Of course, like all children, they had promised each other to keep writing letters, but after a while, the arrival of Liam's letters had started to decrease. Once they had exchanged letters every week, then every month, then every three months, then six, then twelve and then they had stopped altogether.

He was twenty-nine years old by now and those days of his childhood were long gone and forgotten by now. The reality of adulthood had caught up to him long ago and he was aware how little the sadness of losing a childhood friend should mean by now. Yet, Shay still caught himself thinking back to Liam and their adventures every now and again, and how saddened he had been as he had stopped hearing from his friend. His father, naturally, had not been the biggest help back then either. In his father's eyes, there was nothing to be so terribly heartbroken about. Friendships weren't supposed to last forever, he had told him back then. All friendships were bound to end eventually.

And then, years, almost a decade after he had last heard from his friend, he had received a letter. Five years ago the letter had found him in New York, without an address written on the envelope, without a post stamp. It had just been shoved through his mail slot with his newspaper and his bills. Liam's handwriting had not changed a bit since they had been children. There hadn't been many words, only one sentence: _Meet me at Rockefellers_. That had been it. Only this one sentence, this instruction to meet him, not even a name, but a strange sigil that Liam had drawn beneath the words.

Back then he had not known what the symbol meant, today, however, he wondered how his life might have turned out if he had met Liam and not went to his appointment with Alan Rikkin instead. To this day he sometimes wondered why Liam had tried to get back in touch with him on this very day. Had he already known that Abstergo, that the Templars were interested in a man like him, with a skillset like his? Had he wanted to try and convince Shay to join them instead before the Templars could get a hold of him? Would he have ever tried to get back in contact with him if it had not been for the Templars being interested in Shay?

He would probably never know this. This door had closed behind him long ago. It was not that he would not feel sad for all those dead Assassins lying there all around him, but he had seen a lot of death already and it was hard to feel anything at all nowadays. The only thing he really did care for now as he climbed back into his car, was Haytham Kenway's safety. Shay was loyal to a fault. A year ago he would have never dreamt of turning his back to the Order.

Weird, how things sometimes turned out.

And although they were his enemies lying scattered in the dirt all around him, he grabbed his steering wheel a little harder in anger. There was no need for him to search the village. He knew operations like this despite the fact that he had never participated. The order was clear. The order was to kill, no matter the age or the gender. Somewhere in this village, there were the bodies of dead children and that was something Shay could not possibly forgive. This war was getting out of hand and innocent lives were sacrificed for it. As long as his heart was still beating inside of his chest, Shay Cormac would not stand for something like this.

※※※※※※※

He had been certain that death was upon him, the moment he had seen Shay Cormac's face right in front of him at this payphone in front of some shabby motel in the middle of nowhere. And in the same instant, as he had braced himself for his upcoming doom while on the same time he had been ready to fight back, he had felt relief and a sense of clarity wash over his mind that he had long been missing. So it was Shay, he had thought staring into the dark eyes of the aggressor. It had been Shay who had betrayed him and let Abstergo in on his secret life. The timing was just too perfect for it not to be him who had ratted him out. Charles had told him not to go back, Shay had told him to go to his family. Had he arrived earlier, had he driven back home that night right after dinner, he would have been in the midst of this hell. Shay had wanted him dead.

Should he have expected this turn of events? Shay was a spy, a hunter, after all. He was the one providing Abstergo and their various teams with information about the whereabouts of Assassins and their little hiding places. It had been just a matter of time until Shay would have found out about the Davenport Homestead and his involvement in it. Shay was to be blamed for the death of many of their enemies even though he had never attacked those places himself. He should have known, shouldn't he? Shay probably had had his eyes on him and his family for a long time now. He might not have pulled the trigger himself, but he had laid the loaded gun into the hand of the attackers.

It was no secret that Haytham Kenway was the spawn of the enemy and to Haytham it was no secret that he was looked upon with distrust from many. He and his son had one thing in common more than anything else. Both of them were outsiders no matter where they would go. Staying with the Assassins as their enemy, it couldn't have been clearer to Haytham, but even with his fellow Templars, he had felt like an outsider solely because of his heritage. It seemed that he was just not fitting in on either side and for Connor it as the same thing.

But they had each other and to each other, they were no outsiders. That was what got him going in the first place, that was what made him fight back against Shay in this very second as he saw his former friend and ally in front of him. If he wouldn't be there any longer, his son would have no one and he would be just as alone, lost and confused as Haytham had once been. What would become of Connor if no one would be there to protect and guide him?

»What brought you here?« Haytham finally sighed as he closed the door of the motel room behind him, careful not to wake the children that were lying scattered all over the room like dirty socks. Then again, all of them were so exhausted that they would probably not wake up before noon and by then, Haytham would have loaded them back into his car and would be driving again. At least that was the plan.

As it had turned out, Shay, apparently, was not here to kill him. Maybe it was foolish to fall for the words of his former ally, as Shay had reassured him that he came as a friend and to help. Maybe he should not have taken him up here, but many things he was doing lately were quite foolish. And even though he was aware that he should not trust Shay and that Shay was probably the man responsible for the attack, he could not help but give into his foolish hope that Shay might still be on his side.

»Well, certainly not the urge to kill you, I would assume.« His friend chuckled standing in the middle of the room with Haytham. Of course, he did not miss how the young Irishman was looking at the children and Haytham wondered for a moment if Shay tried to figure out if one of those kids was Haytham's son. Had Shay seen Connor before? Had he seen photos? He felt his lips curl into a thin line as Shay drew his attention back to Haytham. »I am very sorry for your loss, Haytham.« So he knew what Connor looked like and assumed he was dead.

»Thank you.« The words came out without his permission, but he did not care anyway. Phrases like this tended to slip him just as easily as drawing a breath. He was British and the British people tend to be a little cold in the eyes of others - especially in the eyes of Americans. »There is nothing that can be done about it now.« And maybe they were just a little too pragmatic from time to time. The Germans were quite similar in that way.

Shay furrowed his brows at his reply, but he continued anyway, brushing Haytham's words off as if they did not mean anything. Even to a man such as Shay it had to be obvious that Haytham was grieving while he tried his best not to allow himself to grieve. He had lost his wife, after all. Despite the fact that their marriage had been on the verge of breaking, despite the fact that they had only been arguing and fighting for the last months, he still loved her and he had lost her. »What are you going to do now? What are _we_ going to do now?«

**-End of Chapter 6 -**


	7. Chapter 7

**June 1998, Central Park, New York City**

There was a tiny bird - a sparrow, his memory helpfully supplied - bathing in a fountain that was located close to the statue of Hans Christian Andersen. Watching the bird was almost mesmerizing to the tall man who wasted his time just watching the bird and trying not to think too much about the things that were lying ahead and the obstacles he still had to get over. Never mind the risk of the situation itself.

His plan certainly did not lack danger as was true for most of his plans, so, in all honesty, he should be used to that feeling by now. This time, however, it was very different. This time, he did not feel the rush of excitement that always came with breaking the rules and swimming against the tide. He felt anxious, though he refused to acknowledge this feeling. If he would not fully acknowledge it, it wasn't real, he decided, despite knowing how foolish this really was. Fear was nothing to be ashamed of. It was a survival mechanism and one that had often saved his life whenever he has misjudged his enemies in the past. Now  _he_ was the enemy and he did not know if he could trust his own stomach any longer.

It was not only his life that he was risking with this move he was making. It had not been quite so easy to get Haytham and those children into relative safety in comparison to the safety of that cheap ass little motel room in which they had been staying after the savage attack on their homes, yet Shay had succeeded.

Safety was only an illusion anyway that they were trying to uphold for those scared and now orphaned children. Haytham and Shay both very well knew that there was no such thing as safety. Not for them and certainly not for those kids, no matter how much Shay wished it was different. He had not brought them to his own apartment, of course. The situation was too dangerous. He needed to at least call the office from time to time, so that Abstergo would not get suspicious. Surely he was being watched, at least to some degree. Charles, William, Thomas, and John were probably being watched too - if they had not had their hands in the attack on the village themselves. It was hard to determine whom to trust. Sure, this whole situation was not really his business. There would be nothing to worry about for him if he would just not get himself involved further. Yet, Haytham was his friend. He did not wish to see him in danger  _or_ those kids. Maybe it was true what Charles once said to him. Maybe his heart was indeed too soft for a life like this.

Of course, the kids had been incredibly anxious and even wary of him after Haytham had woken them all up. Haytham had explained to him, that those kids were his son's friends from his village. They had survived the attack, miraculously. One of them, a small and very plump Native American boy had told them about the last time he had seen Connor, Haytham's four-year-old son, as detailed as he had been able to after all that had happened, interrupted only by small hiccups. Of course, Haytham had been angry that his son's best friend had done nothing to prevent Connor from running away from the group, but despite his anger and the gnawing worry, he had tried his best not to show any of it to those kids.

Haytham Kenway could indeed be the most ruthless and brutal man Shay had ever met, and it was true that no one with a bit of a brain would want to get on his bad side, but still, even Haytham knew that those children were not to blame for anything. Still, had Connor not strayed from them because of the things his friends had said to him, he would be here with them now, perhaps.

He could see the Rockefeller Center from his position in the park and couldn't help but think about the time he had decided against coming to this very place to meet Liam O’Brien, his very own childhood friend. What would his life look like, had he decided to go?

Anyway, there was practically no use in pondering about stuff like this, he thought, at least not now, not in this situation, so, instead, he slowly walked up to a bench that stood near the statue of Hans Christian Andersen and was overlooking the lake. He had not often had the chance to visit Central Park and he would not have time to linger and enjoy the sight today either. There was work to do, things to settle. Yet, as he sat down on the bench and spread his arms out over the backrest, he felt his stomach turn and had to close his eyes just for a moment until his stomach would stop turning.

How many times had he sat here with his father on this very bench, whenever he got the old man to spend a little time with him in the park? How often had he walked through the park and tried to gather his thoughts and get his head a little clearer? It seemed as though all those days he had spent here in the past, were centuries away now. Just as his childhood and the days he had spent with Liam O’Brien.

»You didn't change one bit.« Liam's voice was as he had expected it to sound after all those years, low and deep with the familiar rumbling his father too had possessed whenever Mr. O’Brien had shouted after Liam and him after catching them red-handed. Liam was as silent as one would expect from an Assassin and although Shay had trained a lot and studied the Assassins and their ways of moving about, he had never quite mastered the art of stealth and moving without sound. »I should have known, you know? You are still just as reckless as you have been back in the day. I guess you are aware that I could kill you right on the spot, are you?«

»Don't worry« Shay replied calmly without moving his head to look at his former best friend, who was approaching from somewhere behind him as it sounded,  as he casually lifted the right side of his open jacket just enough to reveal the holster he was wearing over his shoulder and under the jacket, trusting that Liam would see and understand the gesture. »I did not come unprepared.«

»You would be dead before you even get the chance to draw your gun. I wouldn't have thought you were that naive.« Liam grumbled as he closed in on him and circled the bench.

»Oh, the gun is not in my holster, dear friend.« Shay chuckled and finally, he looked up at Liam, who had bridged the distance between them without producing even the smallest sound on the gravel. He was tall. Liam had always been taller than Shay - much to his displeasure. Most people would never suspect someone with such a bulky physique to be able to move so smoothly and silently. His hair was so short and blond that Shay could hardly see it on his round head and yet the sight of his friend who looked at him so seriously, cast a small grin on his own narrow face. »I think you know what people say about me, Liam. I am one of the best shots they have. I never miss my target.«

»They? I believe you mean the Templars.«

Even though that was exactly what he meant, suddenly it seemed too hard to say it. Suddenly the word _Templar_ seemed forbidden and unwanting to come over his lips, so he nodded instead. He felt pathetic, but at least Liam did not dwell on this, despite the fact that he surely knew how his old friend felt. For a moment, Liam just stood there, right in front of him and Shay could almost smell the steel of his hidden blade attached to his left wrist. He did not see the blade, though. Liam came prepared to kill him, just as Shay came prepared to defend himself. They were enemies, no matter their personal history, that was out of question. The question was if they would still be enemies when this meeting was over.

»I would have all the right reasons to kill you now and the Brotherhood would rejoice hearing of your death.« Liam scoffed as his shadow loomed over Shay, the feared Assassin hunter and Templar spy. Since he had heard of the Rockport massacre, he had started to question for the first time if he was on the right side of history. Maybe that was why he couldn't help but trying to save those kids and help Haytham to find his son.

»I'm aware.«

»And yet you reached out to me.«

»I need your help.«

Liam drove his left hand over his chin in a gesture mirroring his own father’s. Shay could still see Mr. O’Brien in front of him, towering over him like Liam now, driving his hand over his stubbly chin as he thought about whether to punish the boys for their shenanigans or let them go. »And why should I help you? After everything you've done. Just because we were friends in the past, does not mean that I can forgive what you have done for the Templars. You know, I never understood why you never came to meet me back then.«

»I didn’t know better.« Shay admitted but lowered his eyes. It was not as if he had never wondered if the ways of the Templar Orders were really the right path. It would have been dumb, had he never asked those questions, but until now he never had found a reason to question his own decision, his own beliefs that, yes, the Templars were the good ones in this endless war. The Templars could taunt the Assassins all they wanted, could paint them as black as they wanted, but the truth was and would always remain that the Assassins would never kill innocents, would never kill children, would never massacre an entire village. And for what? Just to even the scale? »I thought joining the Templars would be the right thing. It wasn’t the money and the opportunities they gave me. I really thought that it was a good thing. Now I know better.«

※※※※※※※

He dreamed that his father came to save him, but the machine roared on. The machine was loud and strange. His head hurt and buzzed agonizingly. Around him was only white and the light was always too bright and hurt his eyes whenever he was allowed to open them, that was. How long had he been here already? He couldn’t tell. Since the first day he opened his eyes in this strange place, all he ever got to see was the same white room, with the same white walls, and the doctor. The doctor, Warren Vidic,  visited him every day and was his only indication of how much time had already passed. Then again, how valuable of a measurement was this really? The doctor looked the same every day, after all.

Sometimes he was visited by a nurse, but he would only see the back of her head because she always left immediately when he would wake up as if she was not allowed to be seen by him. He did not know for sure if the woman was a nurse, of course. He had never been to the hospital himself, so he wouldn't know if that was how nurses looked in reality, but he thought that she looked like the ones he had seen on TV at home.

 _Home_ … He did not even know what was left of home now.

Today was different though. For the first time, the doctor came not to poke him with strange objects or needles. As the door was opened with a small beep coming from outside, Connor already sat on his bed and made himself smaller the second his eyes fell upon the approaching doctor. Today he was wearing a smile on his face, but this couldn’t coax Connor into trusting him anyway. He tried to act brave and unintimidated, just as his father would, but he could not suppress the shiver of fear running down his spine. Despite the people that had been living in the village, he had not seen many adults in his life other than his parents.

»How are you feeling today, Connor?« He did not ask how the man knew his name. He felt that this knowledge wasn’t that important to gain.

His mother had always told him not to talk to strangers and more importantly not to trust strangers just like this, yet, since his mother wasn't here and since it did not seem as if his situation could get any worse as it already was, he  spoke up, with his brows knotted and a dark look on his face. »I want to go home.« Connor insisted but wrapped his thin arms around his raised knees, destroying the illusion of a brave and unintimidated four-year-old boy that he had tried to create. »I want to see my parents.«

»I'm terribly sorry to say that,« The doctor began as he sat down on the edge of Connor's bed. Immediately he scurried even closer to the wall in his back. »but I guess there is no right way to do so, so I might as well just say it as it is. Your parents are dead, Connor. This is your new home now and I am here to help you.«

※※※※※※※

The journey was dangerous and Haytham could feel the eyes of the Assassins drill holes into his very soul every day that he remained in their presence. Of course, it had been expected that the Assassins would look at him in distrust and would rather kill him than helping him. However, Haytham couldn't care less. All he could think about was Connor and that he did not even know where his son was.

They had been in hiding for almost a week after the massacre and Haytham still did not know who of his comrades was still on his side. He had not tried to make contact to any of his friends and fellow Templars and he would not until those children were in a safe place at the very least. Shay, however, traveled back and forth almost constantly, calling the office and doing his usual work to find out everything that he possibly could about the situation without drawing too much suspicion towards himself. With every day it got harder and harder to suppress the urge to call Charles, his good old friend. Surely Charles would be able to tell him everything.

The situation was by no means ideal. He was hiding in the underground like a common thief. However, he was aware how grateful he should be for the mercy the Assassin Brotherhood showed him and Shay. They had all the right reasons not to trust them and not to help them. A part of him had even feared that Liam and his group would kill both Templars immediately, as soon as they had managed to get those kids into safety. Safety was a relative term, however, at least here in America and Haytham was aware of that. The other enclaves in the U.S. were somewhat safe, of course, but could and should they risk bringing those kids there? He thought about Black Hills, but Black Hills was a relatively small community with lots of farmland and the outward appearance of just some old farm where a bunch of hippies were living and raising their kids together. The place would not be ideal to accommodate seven new children who had just lost their parents and homes.

The kids themselves were quite tough, though. Of course, they were afraid and mourned their parents, but only rarely Haytham saw any of them cry. They had been raised to expect their parents' death sooner or later. Connor would have been raised the same way, had this massacre not happened.

»England is our best chance.« Haytham suddenly heard the voice of a young woman behind the next wall, as he strolled through the confusing systems of corridors and adjoining rooms in the belly of the ship. During day time, it was almost impossible for him to go and catch a breath of fresh air on the main deck, so he tried to kill time in walking around down here, getting to know the ship better. Hope Jensen, was the name of the young lady and, as he had been told a few days ago by the man named Liam, Hope and the other members of her group, a Native American man named Kesegowaase, a Frenchman named Louis-Joseph Gaultier and Liam O'Brien himself, they had all been a part of the Davenport Homestead originally. Their mentor, Achilles was dead now and of course, they came to help after they had heard the horrific news.

Hope seemed to be a very distrustful young lady, as far as he could tell, at least. Her eyes always rested sharp on Haytham like those of a hawk, whenever he was near and Haytham could never quite tell what she might think about him. However, it got pretty clear after Hope had already threatened him to pour just a little poison into his dinner. Just enough to make him feel pain. To be honest, Haytham tried his best to stay away from the Assassins most of the time, which was not quite as easy in the limited space this ship provided for seven kids and five adults, excluding Shay. He had already grown tired of their accusing looks. He deserved it, of course, and he had not expected anything else, but now they were united by a common goal, weren't they?

»We could bring them to Crawley, I guess.« The soft voice of Kesegowaase replied. He always seemed the most level headed of the bunch and was much more a leader type figure than the rest of them, despite Louis-Joseph's big mouth, Hope's sharp tongue or Liam's dominance over the group.

»Do you really think Crawley is our best shot?« Hope replied and Haytham could hear the skepticism dripping right from her every word. Of course, she was skeptical.

Haytham did not hesitate any longer as he walked on and straight around the corner. He couldn’t even tell if Hope was surprised to see him because her face did not move one bit. Kesegowaase, on the other hand, looked just slightly surprised even if positively. »I do think Crawley is the right place to start in getting those kids to safety.« Haytham immediately began without giving any of them the chance to speak up against him. »The Brotherhood in Britain might not be the strongest, but I am certain that they will make sure that the kids are safe there. But I'm not coming with you if that’s the course this ship will take.«

It did not take Hope long to figure out his reasoning, judging by the words that followed. »Who would have thought that the great master Templar Haytham Kenway would fear to face his own father back in good old Great Britain.« She snarled and it was probably the first proper facial reaction he ever got from this woman.

Haytham suppressed a snarl of his own at her reaction as he crossed his arms in defiance and let his eyes wander over both Assassins. Were the circumstances any different, they would be at each other's throats already and he was aware that his life solely depended on their mercy. He was a Templar, after all, wasn't he? Well … That was the point, wasn't it? His way of thinking and his beliefs had not changed because of the massacre or his grief or his worry for Connor. He still believed that the Templars had the right goal in mind, then again … if this was the way they thought to achieve their goals, if they thought the slaughter of innocent children was justified by the greater good, Haytham truly did not know if he could still follow them. Not that he would get a chance anyway. There were no wanted posters of him hanging at the sides of buildings all over Boston or New York. He did not need it written down to know that Abstergo and the Templar Order, in general, would be after him. They had known what they had done as they had attacked his home. They had kidnapped his son deliberately. But to what end?

»I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Jensen.« He finally answered and raised his chin ever so slightly. He enjoyed the way Hope’s eyes squinted in annoyance at the gesture. »But I am not at all afraid to meet my father. It's true that we may fight on opposing sides, but that does not mean we hate each other. As you are probably aware, my own wife was an Assassin.« _Was_ , this little word still seemed so very wrong when he was referring to his beloved wife. Ziio had been young and wild and endlessly fearless and beautiful. She had fought til her death for their son and Haytham was adamant to do the same. He did not wish to take a detour from his path to find Connor. »It is only that I would much rather stay in America to find out more about my son’s whereabouts as you might imagine.« He swallowed the unfriendly little comment he had lying on his tongue already. He was not here to make enemies with those people. In fact, he was here because he needed them and all of them knew this pretty well, which did not make his situation any more comfortable.

»Do you really think your son is still here?« This time it was Kesegowaase’s turn to speak up again. He was a large man and he looked even taller and bigger now, as he leaned with crossed arms against the steel wall behind him, barely gracing the bolts that were forming a straight line every few feet over the walls were the pieces were connected to each other. »I mean, how big are the odds that the Templars have not already transported him to another country?«

The thought scared him more than he was willing to admit and he had to chew on it for the rest of the day until Shay arrived back at the ship that was nestled safely into the New York harbor. At least the Assassins were quite good in camouflaging their vehicles. In the midst of all those other boats - _ships_ , as his father would immediately scold him - the _Altaїr I_ , did not draw too much attention towards it. Just one more large dogger waiting to leave the harbor again.

The night was unusually clear and the stars almost ridiculously bright, as Haytham drew in a deep breath and watched his friend moving up the board to enter the ship. Shay himself was a man fond of the sea and of ships in general. They had spent hours and hours talking about this very topic in the past and even though Haytham himself did not enjoy the topic too much, it had always reminded him of his own father and so he had let Shay ramble on and on about it. He was still in contact with his father, though not since the attack and they were not as close anymore since the day they had been separated. and despite the attack on his home during his own childhood, despite being raised by Templars, thinking that his family was dead, he had never held a grudge against them. Against Birch, yes, but never against the Templars as a whole. He had justified staying with them in telling himself that there were always a few bad apples in a basket and that Reginald Birch, his mentor and father figure after he had deemed his own father dead, was just one of them.

Maybe it was the other way around with the Templars. Maybe there only were a few good apples in a basket full of rotten and worm infested ones. Maybe it was true. Maybe good and evil did exist. Maybe the Assassins were indeed the good ones. Maybe he had been on the wrong side of history his entire life. But that was a thought for yet another day.

Shay joined him without hesitation at the lean bow, where Haytham stood with his back against the railing and his hands resting on the steel behind him. it was almost a feeling of comfort holding onto the ship like this.  »I already heard the news« Shay greeted him as he mirrored Haytham and looked up to the stars himself.  »England it is then. I can't say that I am too fond of the idea of leaving America to go to Britain, but, if it's necessary I’ll go.«

»No, you're not.« Haytham immediately replied and shortly glanced at Shay only to see his face scrunch up in confusion.  »I need you here more.« Haytham added after a moment.  »As long as Abstergo does not suspect anything, you are my eyes and my ears within the Order. They will be searching for me. I am sure that there is already a price tag on my head and only a matter of time until Abstergo lets their mercenaries loose to find me. But before that happens, I need to get those kids into safety and no matter how much I dislike the possibility of going back home, we can all agree that they are much safer in Crawley than here in the U.S.«

Shay grew silent as Haytham directed his gaze back at the sky. It was impossible to tell if he agreed with this decision or not and frankly, it did not matter anyway. They both knew this. Shay had to keep playing his role at Abstergo to find out as much as he could about Connor's whereabouts or what the Templars wanted to do because of Haytham himself.  »What about Connor?« Shay finally asked with a sigh.

»Liam’s _friends_ « He emphasized the word a little more than needed. »think that it is highly unlikely that Connor is still in the U.S. and our chances of finding him here very slim.«

»And what do you think?«

He paused for a moment and just took in the stars above him, remembering the nights he had spent with Connor on the roof of their house. Connor had loved it when his father would help him get up there only to snuggle up in a thick woolen blanket and look at the starry sky above their heads. He had spent hours, an eternity even, explaining the stars and star formations to his son, just as his father had when he had been Connor's age. Haytham couldn't help but wonder if he would ever get the chance to do it again or if history was repeating itself. Maybe his own father had felt the same way he felt now after their family had been ripped apart. He had never quite understood the grief his father must have went through back then. He had understood his own grief; the grief of a young boy who had lost his entire family, but now, he could understand what it felt like losing a child. Or  _potentially_ losing a child, hopefully.

»I think« Haytham started only to pause again immediately and gather his thoughts. Yes, what was he thinking?  »I _think_ , after working for the Templars for such a long time, the Assassins may be right. If I would be whoever took my child from me, probably knowing that Connor is indeed the child of a fellow Templar, furthermore of a traitor - at least in their eyes -, I would bring him as far away as possible to make it as hard as possible for me to find him. If they know who Connor is, which I think is undoubtedly clear, they know who his family is and they sure can imagine that the Assassins not only heard of the attack but maybe also of the kidnapping. They sure as hell won't take the risk of losing Connor as a bargaining chip.«

»But bargain for what?«

»If I would know that, this situation would be a lot easier to handle.« If he had something - anything - the Templars could possibly want in exchange for Connor, he would gladly give it to them. He would give them even the tiniest piece of Eden he could find if it would bring his son back into his arms. Of course, his success in finding the artifacts had stagnated in the past few months, but it was hard to track them down anyway, most of them were hidden and as long as he would not be able to look through the eyes of those who had hidden those artifacts he would never be able to-  »The Animus.« Haytham breathed and on a whim, he grabbed Shay’s shoulder so hard as if he wanted to rip his arm off.

»What about this devilish thing?«

»They tried to put me in it. They tried to make me connect with my ancestor to find them a Piece of Eden. It did not work. What if Vidic attacked the village to cover up the kidnapping? What if this was all planned out? If Charles hadn't been there to keep me from going, I would have maybe died in the massacre too and then no one would have been left to state that Connor was kidnapped. No one would have stayed in his path then. What if he wants to put Connor into the machine to make him do what I couldn't?«

The idea was horrifying to Haytham. He had experienced the Animus first hand and what it did to one’s head, despite the fact that he had had a hard time connecting at all to his ancestor. It had almost been as if his ancestor had blocked him out deliberately. Maybe it had been Haytham himself blocking himself out. And now Connor had to pay the price.

»We can't be sure of that. I mean, would he really put a child into that machine?«

»Wouldn't he?« Haytham huffed. »You know Warren.« He then spat. »He does not care for the means by which he reaches his goal. I want you to find out everything you can about his experiments while I'm gone.« Even though now more than ever he wanted to stay. He did not want Connor to experience Warren Vidic's experiments. »Try to find out who we can trust of our friends. You need to find out who ratted me out to Abstergo if anyone. I can't say if they knew of my relationship to Ziio and to the Assassins through her or if someone told them from the beginning. Do everything you must to ensure that they trust you.«

※※※※※※※

Everytime Haytham thought about his past in England, he would think about their house at Queen Anne’s Square in London. It had been old even when he was born and his father used to tell him tales about secret passages and hidden doors leading to hidden rooms, of pirates and their gold treasures hidden deep beneath the house. Crawley, however, was not the very first place he would think of. Unlike most Assassins, his father had made it to wealth in his thirties before settling down and finally fully acknowledging his role as a Master Assassin and leader. There was no doubting the fact that his father was and had been a good leader from the beginning, but as a child, Haytham could never imagine his father as being just that.

Now, as he walked up to the remote countryside home of his father, it was hard to think of him as anything but an Assassin and leader. Weirdly enough, he felt like a kid who had run away from home only to come back with his tail between his legs. Had he fucked up? Was there a reason for his father to scold him? Sure enough, those childish thoughts did not suit him and so he only straightened his back as he walked up to the front door, the other Assassins and the children walking behind him as if they needed to make sure he would not bail on them. It was odd, but truly, Haytham felt uncomfortable knowing that he would soon look his father in the eyes again.

However, there was no time to hesitate anymore, no time to dwell on his darkening thoughts, no time to imagine how his father would react to him being here or what he might say to him. He would never find out until he would ring the doorbell and since it was not like him to shy away from a confrontation - if anything, that was what the Kenways all had in common for generations upon generations - he stepped up to the door and pressed his right index finger down on the doorbell. The shrill sound had never been louder in his ears.

It was still early in the day, the sun was only slowly rising on the horizon and most houses were still dark. The sky was tinted a beautiful magenta and no cloud on the sky told stories of foreboding doom. For a long moment, nothing happened. Around them the street was silent. His father's home was on the outskirts of Crawley and most houses around occupied by the members of the brotherhood that was lead by his father. Who would have thought that the day would come when he would find himself here, in the Assassin’s Den, of all places.

A part of him even wished that the door would remain shut while on the same instant, fear was manifesting itself in Haytham's chest at the thought. He hadn't heard of his father in a while. What if the old man was not here? What if something had happened to him too? What about his half-sister Jenny?

The noises behind the door were so silent, Haytham had almost been unable to hear them. Almost. He could hear silent footsteps that stopped right behind that door, then nothing for a mere second, before he could hear how the chain was removed and the door was opened with a jolt. Haytham couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly by the sudden movement, but as his eyes met the blue ones of his father, for once, he did not know what to say.

**-End of Chapter 7-**


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